


Misfits

by gryffindor17



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Bullying, Dirty Talk, Elementary School, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Growing Up Together, Humor, Kid Fic, Loss of Limbs, Loss of Virginity, Masturbation, Medical Procedures, Multi, References to MCU, Steve Making Bad Decisions, Switch Bucky, Switch Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-01-26 08:41:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 53,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1682042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryffindor17/pseuds/gryffindor17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Growing up is hard. Growing up and realizing you're in love with your best friend is even harder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. S. Lee Elementary School

**Author's Note:**

> This is the product of writer's block on another story and my burning need for an AU where Bucky and Steve grow up with normal kid problems and the only thing that makes them weird is their weird ass group of friends and then they kinda accidentally fall in love with each other.
> 
> Yeah, this is that.
> 
> Comments and suggestions and commentary and nonsensical ramblings are welcome!! I love hearing back from everyone, whether the criticism is good, bad or inbetween!! Kudos and comments are appreciated and enjoyed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tonight I'll dream while I'm in bed  
> when silly thoughts go through my head  
> about the bugs and alphabet  
> and when I wake tomorrow I'll bet  
> that you and I will walk together again.  
> I can tell that we are gonna be friends"
> 
> _We're Going to be Friends_ // The White Stripes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing here, nothing at all. Nothing but my own feelings and shame.

He’s ten minutes into first grade recess and he already has his face in the dirt. Elementary School is shaping up to be a lot like Kindergarten. And Pre-School. And Day Care.

He’s used to it at this point. He’s no stranger to scabby knees and scratched palms. He and the nurse are bound to be on a first name basis before the day is through. He can still remember the tender, sympathetic look that Mrs. Margret Peachman gave him day after day last year and Miss. Edith May’s soft reprimands of, “ _Again, Steven? Take a seat…,_ ” still ring in his ears whenever his delicate skin hits unforgiving pavement.

So yeah, this is nothing new. He’s the same Ol’ Steve Rogers, but in a different school, with different kids, getting beat up by different bullies.

Steve pulls his face out of the dirt and spits the woodchips and sand from his mouth. He thinks he’s split his lip if the irony taste on his tongue tells him anything, but that’s nothing to worry about. There’s a new scrape on his forearm that’s much more concerning and if he doesn’t get it cleaned up it’s bound to get infected. He shuffles to his knees with ragged breath, wincing as his meager weight falls upon his bruising knees. 

He’s almost got himself back on his feet when he feels a sharp jab at his back which sends him tumbling into the dirt again. As his hands scratch the ground, struggling to find purchase, he hears a chorus of cruel laughter swelling around him. He looks up enough to see a circle of tan pants and black boots surrounding him. He can barely suppress the miserable groan that wells up in his chest at the sight: 5 against 1, not the best odds.

Despite his less than favorable chances, Steve rolls onto his back anyway with a look of grim determination. He’s no stranger to crappy odds: The odds of him living past 10, the odds of his family making next month’s rent… He’s used to this, and in his mind a group of rag-tag bullies were the least of his worries.

“What’s’a matter, Rogers?” One of his attackers heckles. “You gonna cry?” He taunts.

“No way.” Steve says firmly as he scrambles to his feet. His tan pants are ruined and his crisp blue dress shirt is rumpled beyond repair, but it doesn’t stop Steve from squaring his shoulders and jutting out his jaw in an act of defiance.

“C’mon, Jay, make him cry!” Another kid jeers, and Steve recognizes him. The boy’s first name is a mouthful, so everyone just calls him Zola. Steve sits beside him in class and the boy had spent all of reading time stealthily jabbing Steve’s ribs with his sharpened pencil like Steve was some kind of lab experiment. When Steve had told him to cut it out, the boy just leered at him and blinked owlishly from behind his massive glasses, pretending not to know what Steve was talking about. 

Zola isn’t like any of the other bullies Steve’s dealt with, and at first he didn’t understand how this kid could’ve become one of the reigning terrors on the playground, but his question was answered when Zola’s step-brother sauntered over to Steve’s desk during snack time and crushed his animal cracker cookies in his pale fist. 

His name is Johann, but most of the kids in Steve’s class can’t wrap their tongues around his name, either, so they dubbed him Jay and that was that. Jay is textbook bully material: Big for his age with a twisted sense of humor and a complete lack of empathy. Steve hasn’t been in class with him for more than a day and he’s already become the other boy’s personal punching bag.

It’s Jay who advances on Steve now, sauntering forward with an arrogant swagger that’s well beyond his years. He comes chest to chest with Steve and glares down at him. “No one likes you here, Rogers. Why did you bother showing up?” He says venomously to the cheers and hollers of his cronies.

Steve’s jaw works as he fights the lead weight settling in his gut. He reminds himself that this is nothing he hasn’t heard before and steels himself for a retort. “I ain’t scared of you, pal.”

Jay’s eyebrows rise up his forehead and he laughs mirthlessly in Steve’s face before he shoves him to the dirt again. “Why don’t you just stay down this time, Rogers? Make it easy on yourself?”

“You kiddin’ me?” Steve laughs as he stumbles to his feet once again, schooling his features so his attackers can’t see just how much it hurts to stand. “I could do this all day!” He says brightly as he raises two dirty fists in front of himself and braces for a fight.

Jay smirks and steps away from Steve, and for one miraculous moment Steve thinks that he’s won, and that they’re gonna leave him alone. But he’s wrong, because when Jay’s a few steps back he smirks and sicks his attack dogs on Steve.

The next few moments are all a blur of dust and gasping breaths and black boots hammering against his aching body. He’s wheezing and choking and writhing against the ground, all while trying his absolute best to find his footing and stand back up, whichever way up is. Right now he can’t tell, and that frightens him more than the barrage of kicks aimed at his delicate ribs.

His personal beat down is cut short when a sharp voice rings clear over the sound of the scuffle. “Hey!” They shout over the noise, and even from that one word alone, Steve can hear the thick Brooklyn accent that he himself also possesses. “What do you fellas think you’re doin’?”

The kicking immediately ceases and all four of his attackers turn toward the voice. Steve can hear Jay speaking for his crew. “Just showin’ the new guy the ropes. Why, you got a problem, Barnes?”

Barnes. Steve knows that name. The disembodied voice belongs to “ _James Buchanan Barnes, but you can just call me ‘Bucky!’ I like dogs and baseball and I can count to 50!_ ”, as he’d introduced himself to the class during the Name Game. He’s the boy who had seen Jay crush Steve’s animal crackers and in return he’d taken Jay’s juice box and thrown it in the trash when he wasn’t looking. No one in the class had seen him do it, no one but Steve, and when Jay threw a temper tantrum about not having any juice to go with his crackers, Steve maintained a tight lipped smile and offered no information about the whereabouts of Jay’s juice box.

Now, as he lifts his head from the dirt once again, he’s able to see James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes from between the legs of his attackers. He’s holding a slingshot and a hand full of stones, glaring at Jay like he’d just told him Santa Clause wasn’t real.

“Yeah, I do! Leave him alone!” Bucky says, his fingers flexing around the handle of the slingshot.

“And what if we don’t? Huh? What are you gonna do about it Barnes?” This time it’s one of the boys who’d been kicking him speaking. 

“Can it Brock, I ain’t messin’ around! Leave him alone.” Bucky repeats, advancing on the crowd with determination.

“You’d better can in Brock, Bucky Bear ain’t messin’ around!” Zola mocks in his wheezing, squeaky voice. Steve has the urge to kick him in the back of the shins.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn ya…” Bucky mutters, more to himself than to the group at large. He raises his slingshot in front of him and plants his feet firmly on the ground. With his tongue caught between his teeth, he puts one of the rocks in the leather pouch and draws it back, squinting and aiming before letting the rubber snap and sending a stone hurdling into Zola’s glasses, chipping the glass.

Zola pulls his glasses from his face with shaking hands and barely has time to take in the damage before another rock pops him right in the forehead. He squeals in pain before ducking away, running as fast as his short legs can carry him.

“Who’s next?” Bucky asks as he turns his aim from Brock, to the other two boys who had been kicking Steve, and finally to Jay who looks so mad Steve could almost see the steam coming out of his ears like in Saturday morning cartoons.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Barnes.” Jay says lowly as he backs away, his cronies following suit.

Bucky pockets the slingshot and the rest of his rocks and crosses his arms over his chest. Steve thinks he looks a bit like the cowboys that he sees in the movies sometimes. “You shouldn’t-a messed with my friend.”

Jay spares one last fleeting glance Steve’s way before turning tail and heading to the other side of the playground where Steve can see Zola hunched under the monkey bars gingerly turning his glasses in his chubby hands. His buddies run after him and pretty soon it’s just Steve and Bucky, the former still curled up in the dirt and the latter watching Steve wearily from where he stands.

Steve groans and winces as he rights himself and it takes nearly all the strength he has in his body just to get into a sitting position.

“Hey pal, you need some help?”

He looks up to see Bucky’s hand extended towards him. He’s weary because he’s been tricked like this before: boys will offer him a helping hand and then laugh as they let him go before he can find his bearings, but Bucky doesn’t seem like the bullying type, so Steve puts his dirty hand in Bucky’s and only winces a little bit as the boy hauls him to his feet.

“Thanks.” Steve mumbles.

“No problem! I’m James Buchanan Barnes, but you can call me—.”

“Bucky.” Steve finishes for him. He looks up from the ground to see Bucky smiling at him. Now that he’s this close, Steve can see that Bucky’s missing one of his front teeth and that his eyes are blue like the sky and that he’s taller and wider than Steve is. That’s not saying much though, since Steve could probably fall through a crack in the sidewalk if he wasn’t careful. “I’m Steve.”

“Hiya, Steve!” Bucky says brightly before his eyes start roaming over Steve’s haggard appearance. “What do you say we get you to the nurse, eh, Steve?”

Steve nods quickly and tries not to think about all the infections and bruises and scrapes he’s got. 

Bucky throws his arm around Steve’s shoulder and Steve only winces a little as Bucky drags him to his side and begins walking back toward the school. “I know the way! We’ll be there in no time, pal!” He says brightly as he pulls Steve along.

Steve glances sideways at Bucky and wonders why this boy’s being so nice to him. He looks like he’d fit into Jay’s group just fine, heck, he could probably lead it if he wanted to. He says as much and Bucky’s face twists in disgust. “Those guys? Yuck! No way!” He says firmly. “Jay and Zola live in me and my family’s complex, and even my ma doesn’t like ‘em, and Ma likes everyone, Stevie, everyone! They’re bad news, Stevie, I’m tellin’ ya. I’d rather get pushed in the dirt than be one of ‘em.”

“Easy to say when you’re not the one in the dirt.” Steve grumbles.

Bucky opens the door to the school and nudges Steve inside before putting his arm around him again. “Don’t you worry about those guys. They won’t mess with ya, not while I’m around.” He says confidently, and Steve has half the mind to believe him.

“Where’d ya learn to shoot like that?” Steve asks.

Bucky laughs as he and Steve turn down a quiet hallway. “It started when my ma tried to make me eat peas. Peas, Steve, you ever eat a pea before?” Steve shakes his head slowly and Bucky smiles easily. “You’re lucky. So like I said, it started with peas…”

Bucky continues to tell Steve the story of how he would turn dinner time into target practice using nothing but his knife, his fork, a rubber band, and the accursed peas that he loathed so much until they arrive at the nurse’s office. Steve’s so invested in Bucky’s story that he’s nearly forgotten that half his body is covered in dirt and the other half is covered in purpling bruises until he hears the scandalized gasp of the nurse.

“What happened, sweetheart?” She asks softly as she crouches down beside him. She reminds Steve of his grandmother, who Steve hasn’t seen in a real long time and who he can’t talk about unless he wants to see his mother cry, which he doesn’t, he just wants to know why they don’t go to Grandma’s on Sundays anymore. She has the same grey hair and the same blue eyes, and she even kinda smells like Steve’s grandmother, which immediately puts him at ease.

“It was Jay and his jerk friends!” Bucky cries out before Steve can speak. “They’re pickin’ on Steve because he’s little!”

The nurse pouts and looks at Steve. “Steve, is that true?”

Steve nods weakly and shrugs. “I had ‘em on the ropes.” He said softly.

The nurse laughs softly and nods. “I’ll bet you did, but it’s a good thing Mr. Barnes was there to help you out, huh?” She says, gently nudging Steve’s shoulder.

Bucky preens as Steve nods.

“Well, James, why don’t you go back outside and let me take care of Steve, alright?” She says softly as she stands and takes Steve’s small hand in her own.

Bucky crosses his arms. “I dunno, Ms. Andrews, I think I should stay. Just in case.”

The nurse chortles as she looks down at the resolution on Bucky’s face. “James, I think I can handle this one. Go back outside with the other kids.”

Bucky shuffles on the spot for a minute and seems to really debate following her orders, but ultimately he leaves after Steve promises that he’s gonna be alright.

“Is he a friend of yours?” Ms. Andrews asks as she leads Steve into her office and begins pulling Band-Aids and rubbing alcohol from her cabinets.

Steve smiles softly as he settles his aching body into one of the multicolored plastic chairs lined against the wall. “Yeah, I think he is.”

Steve returns to the classroom after he’s been sufficiently sanitized and bandaged. Ms. Andrews sends him back with a note that he hands to his teacher, Mrs. Cather, and after she finishes reading it she immediately moves Steve’s desk next to Bucky’s. 

He doesn’t know what Ms. Andrews said in that note, but he’s thankful that she said it because Bucky doesn’t poke him with sharp pencils like Zola did. Bucky shares his colored pencils with Steve at art time and marvels at how good Steve is at drawing dogs. Bucky helps Steve with his math because Steve can’t count to 50 like Bucky can. Bucky even shares half of his peanut butter and jelly with Steve because Steve’s mother mixed up he and his father’s lunches and Steve would rather eat paste than eat tuna.

By the time 2 o’clock rolls around, Bucky and Steve are inseparable. As they pull their backpacks from their cubbies, Steve hands Bucky the picture of the dog he’d drawn and Bucky smiles so wide that Steve can see that he’s lost not only his top tooth, but also a bottom tooth as well. 

Steve follows behind Bucky as Ms. Cather guides them out of their room to the lines of busses outside and waves sadly when Bucky has to get on his bus. He watches as Zola, Jay, and Bucky all climb into the same bus and laughs when Bucky makes slingshot motions behind Zola’s back. Steve waves one last time and Bucky clambers to the window of the bus, sliding the glass down quickly and hanging his head out the window.

“See ya tomorrow, Steve!” He calls.

“You bet!” Steve calls back.

For the first time in a long time, Steve isn’t dreading tomorrow.

***

Steve’s barely hung his backpack on the hinges of his cubby before a looming shadow stretches over him. He turns to see Jay standing behind him, just a little too close for comfort, and behind him Zola is peering out over his brother’s shoulder. Steve notices, with a wry smile, that his glasses are still chipped.

“You got us in trouble, Rogers.” Jay says through clenched teeth. He pokes Steve in his bony chest and Steve fights the instinct to wince. “Because you can’t fight your own fights.”

Steve pushes back against Jay, but he doesn’t move very far. “Not my fault you’re a jerk!” He says.

Jay looks like he’s ready to retort, but someone nearby clears their throat and Steve turns to see Bucky standing there with his hand brushing over the slingshot in his pocket. “We got another problem, Steve?” He asks.

Steve looks back and sees the color draining from Jay’s face, and behind him Zola is whimpering and reaching for his shattered glasses. “Nah, Buck. I think they were just leaving.” Steve says with a smile.

Jay and Zola take the dismissal for what it is and scamper away before Bucky has time to get out his slingshot.

Weeks pass by this way. Steve and Bucky grow more attached to each other with every passing day. During their daily trips to the library, Mrs. Cather often finds them sitting with their heads pressed together, pouring over books about everything from dinosaurs to WWII. Steve is a better reader than Bucky, and she can hear his voice among all the others, carefully pronouncing the names of different dinosaurs and explaining to Bucky that, “ _No, you don’t pronounce the ‘p’ in pterodactyl,_ ” to which Bucky responds with, “ _Well, that’s stupid._ ”

During gym, the two always pair off immediately and Bucky never has any problem with sitting on the side lines as Steve works through an asthma attack. More often than not, in fact, Bucky is the one to make the run to Ms. Andrews’ office and come back holding Steve’s inhaler, offering the smaller boy soothing words even as Jay and his friends jeer at Steve from across the room.

It’s a chilly November morning when Bucky comes flying into the room, nearly barreling over the small group of girls gathered in the doorway as he excitedly waves a piece of stationary paper in his hand. Steve smiles brightly and fishes his own paper out of his pocket and holds it up for Bucky’s inspection. Bucky’s eyebrows draw together and Steve knows that he’s having a hard time reading his mother’s scrawl, so he explains. “She said yes!” He says happily.

Bucky’s grin lights up his whole face and Steve can tell that Bucky’s big boy teeth are starting to come in. Together they rush to Mrs. Cather’s desk and hand her the notes that say that Steve can take Bucky’s bus to his house. Mrs. Cather smiles and thanks them, and the rest of the day is wasted because both boys are vibrating with excitement. Bucky tells Steve about how his mom’s making spaghetti tonight because Bucky told her that it’s Steve’s favorite, and before Steve can even say anything, Bucky assures him that he reminded her not to put sauce on Steve’s spaghetti because he’s allergic to tomatoes.

When Steve and Bucky climb aboard the bus in the afternoon, Jay and Zola carefully avert their eyes and Bucky and Steve pay them no mind. It isn’t until they pull up in front of their apartment complex that Zola tries something funny. He sticks out a short leg as Steve passes and attempts to trip the boy up. Bucky grabs Steve by the backpack to keep him from falling, and with his other hand he flicks Zola’s piggy nose like he’s scorning a dog.

Bucky and Steve bolt off the bus before Jay can hop over his weeping brother and get his hands on either of them, and they take the stairs two at a time until they reach Bucky’s floor. Steve is panting like crazy but assures Bucky that he’s fine, refusing to turn around and let Bucky fish his inhaler out of his backpack. After a tense stare-down in front of Bucky’s front door, the taller boy finally rolls his eyes and lets himself into the apartment.

That night Steve enjoys the best buttered pasta dinner he’s ever had in his whole entire life. Mrs. Barnes makes elbow pasta just like Steve’s mom does and he can barely speak around the cheekfulls of food that he shovels in his mouth. Bucky’s younger sister, Rebecca, keeps asking Steve if he’s Bucky’s best friend and if he’s gonna be living with them now. The first time she’d asked, both Bucky and Steve’s eyes lit up at the prospect of never having to leave each other’s side, but Mrs. Barnes laughed and said that Steve’s mother would miss him too much. She was probably right.

When Steve’s mother arrives later that night, Steve and Bucky crawl beneath Bucky’s mattress in an attempt to hide, but it’s no dice. Mrs. Barnes and Mrs. Rogers can see their sons’ feet sticking out from beneath the bed and forcibly drag the boys by their ankles to get them out. Steve is pouting as he pulls on his backpack and tells Bucky that next time, they’ll go to his house and his mom will make roast chicken and then they’ll hide in his closet because it’s so messy that no one will ever be able to find them ever again.

Bucky thinks it’s a brilliant idea.

***

When Steve returns from Thanksgiving break, he finds Bucky’s desk empty. He’s been sitting at his own desk for almost ten minutes since class has started and there’s no sign of his best friend. He’s starting to get antsy, and he can’t seem to take his eyes away from the door for more than a minute. Behind him he can hear Brock and his friend Alexander, another one of the boys who’d beaten Steve up on the first day of school, whispering to each other. A few minutes later he feels wet globs of paper sticking to the back of his neck and breathes deeply through his nose.

Finally, after the twenty fourth spitball (Bucky’s been helping him with his counting), Steve jerks around in his seat and glares at the boys. “Cut it out!” He hisses.

“Why? Your best buddy’s not around to save you this time, Rogers.” Alexander taunts.

Steve has half a mind to sock him right in the nose, but his skin bruises easily and his father will have himself a fit if he thinks Steve is fighting in school. So he just breathes deeply and faces forward again. Another spitball hits his neck and he silently wills Bucky to come through the door.

He never does.

This means at recess Steve is a one man army and try as he might, he just can’t hold his own against Jay and his buddies. They have him on the ground and gasping within minutes, their feet kicking him into the cold, unforgiving dirt. He screams for help, he screams for someone to go get Mrs. Cather, and he silently screams for Bucky to come flying in at the last minute with his slingshot and his perfect aim. Finally another kid in the class ran in to tell Mrs. Cather what was happening, and she’s at Steve’s side in minutes, promising that his mother’s on the way and that she’ll get him to Ms. Andrew’s office safe and sound.

Steve blacks out before they make it there.

***

Steve doesn’t go back to school for a few days.

When he returns, the bruises on his body have mostly faded into barely-there yellow smudges against his otherwise porcelain skin. When he walks through the door he sees Bucky sitting at his desk and he immediately lights up, running up to his desk without stopping to take off his coat and backpack.

“Buck, you’re back!” He says excitedly.

Bucky nods feverishly as he springs from his chair. “I know! Becky got me sick, because where she goes to school, all the kids are sick and then she came home with it and then she gave it to me. I’m so mad at her, Steve. She’s the worst little sister in the whole world.” Bucky rants and Steve is about to point out that it’s not her fault when Bucky cuts him off with an excited whisper. “I’ve got to show you something, Stevie. I made it as soon as I heard what those jerks did to ya the other day.”

Steve’s eyes widen as he follows Bucky over to the cubbies. As Steve’s stuffing his coat and his backpack into his assigned cubby, he sees Bucky rummaging around in his own, pushing aside his winter coat to reveal—.

“Woah, Buck, what’s that?” Steve asks with wonder as Bucky pulls a big shield from within his cubby. It’s made of cardboard—and Steve can still see the words ‘FRAGILE: HANDLE WITH CARE’ on the outside, but in the middle Bucky’s taped a big red star.

“’S a shield.” Bucky explains as he shoves the shield at Steve. “I made it for ya, so you can protect yourself when I’m not around. I’d like to see them get atch’a with that thing in front of you.” Bucky said with a confident smile.

“I can’t take this from you, Buck, you made it!” Steve says as he tries to shove the shield back in Bucky’s hands.

Bucky pushes back. “No way, Stevie. My ma helped me make it, and she’s gonna be real mad if you don’t take it. She prolly won’t ever make you spaghetti again if you don’t.”

Steve really likes Mrs. Barnes spaghetti, so he keeps the shield.

That day, and every day from then until sixth grade, Bucky and Steve take to the playground—Steve with his shield and Bucky with his new Play-Pretend Rifle—and fight off Jay and all the rest of his stupid friends. Along the way they manage to form their own band of misfits, and against all odds, Sickly Steve makes it past the tender age of 10, no doubt with the help of his new found friends.

First comes Tim Dugan—who willingly calls himself ‘Dum Dum’ for some strange reason, and who made his way onto Jay’s list by wearing his father’s bowler hat to school day in and day out. One day Steve and Bucky watch as Jay and Brock use Dum Dum’s hat like a Frisbee and toss it back and forth over the boy’s head. Steve, of course, is the first to march over and say something, holding his shield in front of himself and trying his hardest to look intimidating despite the shield being almost as big as he is. Bucky backs him up and pretty soon their duo has expanded to three, which turns out to be nice, because Dum Dum always keeps a bag of M&M’s in his back pocket to share and has no problem throwing around the extra weight he carries when it comes to a schoolyard scuffle. 

Next is James Morita, whom Jay and his friends mercilessly bully for his Japanese decent. They’re only in the third grade when James moves to Brooklyn, but Alexander Peirce doesn’t care, and frequently drops notes on James’ desk telling him to ‘GO BACK TO CHINA’ in messy, third grader scrawl. Finally, one day, James gets fed up and punches Alexander right in the throat before pinning him to the floor and screaming, “I’m Japanese-American! I’m from Fresno, Ace, you hear me? _Fresno_!” right into his stunned face. Dum Dum, Bucky, and Steve all exchange glances from their different spots around the room and give the same approving head nod. As soon as James comes back from the principal’s office, the boys introduce themselves and welcome James into their group.

They add another James to their ranks in the fifth grade when James Falsworth transfers into Bucky’s class at the beginning of the year. He came over from England and his posh accent doesn’t go unnoticed by Jay and his crew, which Bucky thinks is real rich since, as he puts it, “Those brothers can’t even pronounce their w’s right!”, which makes Steve laugh until chocolate milk comes out of his nose. One day at recess Bucky comes sprinting over to their corner of the playground with Falsworth in tow, the both of them grinning like idiots as they scamper to a stop in front of the group. Bucky can barely hold himself together as he explains how Falsworth’s older brother heard about his bullying problem and gave James a stink bomb to put in Zola’s backpack, and how Zola had no sooner unzipped his bag to pull out his colored pencils than he fainted and had to be taken to the nurse. Dum Dum claps Falsworth on the back with a meaty hand and welcomes him into the group with open arms, so long as he promises to get his brother to teach them all how to make stink bombs. Falsworth agrees eagerly, and the next week Jay and all his buddies are being led to the nurse with their noses pinched tightly between their fingers. Steve laughs about that for weeks.

Later on that same year, Gabe Jones is dropped into Steve’s class after moving to Brooklyn from Massachusetts. When Black History Month rolls around, Gabe makes a presentation for the class that Steve applauds for wildly, but it isn’t wild enough that he can drown out the cruel comments that Brock is making in the back of the class. Gabe resolutely ignores Brock’s remarks and takes his seat once again without so much as a dirty glance in the other boy’s direction. Steve spins in his seat and taps on Gabe’s desk. “You don’t have to take that from him.” he says, but Gabe just shrugs. “I know I don’t, but my mom always tells me that if other people are unhappy, you just gotta pick up the happy they’re not using and keep it for yourself. That kid?” Gabe nods in Brock’s direction. “Not happy.” He says simply. He’s a part of the group by lunch, Steve won’t take no for an answer.

The final member of their motley crew is Jacques Dernier, who the boys affectionately refer to as ‘Jack’ because they’re still just a bit too young to get the accents in the right places. It’s actually Gabe who brings Jack into the gang. Gabe had walked into the boy’s bathroom to see Alexander and Jay pinning Jacques to a wall and shouting, “Speak any English?” in his face as the boy struggled to get free. Gabe, whose father is a talented linguistics professor whom pushes his son to be well versed in many languages, had quickly realized that the boy was French and struggling to speak in broken English. After demanding that Jay and Alexander get out, Gabe comforted Jack in his native tongue and assured him that he had friends that he’d sure Jacques would like. Sure, the language gap is a little tough at times, but sometimes Jack comes out of the woodwork with a well-timed quip that sends the gang into howling laughter at a moment’s notice.

That’s how they get their name—the Howling Commandos. Teachers began to notice that there was a bit of a turf war on the playground between Jay’s gang and the team that Steve and Bucky had assembled. It’s Steve who notices that there’s a tally board going in the teacher’s lounge, and one day he stops on his way to the water fountain in order to ask his social studies teacher, Mr. Patel, what it meant.

Mr. Patel looks over his shoulder and smiles before restacking the papers in front of him and explaining. “Well, you see that HC, there? The one with all the tallies?” He asks, gesturing to the column on the right that has significantly more tallies. Steve nods and waits for an explanation. “That’s you and your friends. We call you boys the, uh, the Howling Commandos.”

Steve tests out the name on his own tongue before deciding that he actually kinda likes it. He eyes the name at the top of the other column before asking. “So what’s Hydra?”

Mr. Patel offers the seat across from him to Steve, and for a moment he can hardly believe he’s being offered a seat in the teacher’s lounge—he can’t wait to tell Bucky. Steve takes the seat he’s been offered and listens as Mr. Patel explains that Hydra was an extension of Hitler’s power during WWII Germany. Steve and Bucky had poured over enough books on the subject over the years that Steve is able to follow along as Mr. Patel explains that the teachers all think that Johann, or Jay as Steve knows him, is a bit too much like Hitler for his own good. Not to mention that he has henchmen left and right who blindly follow him. Steve can’t help but agree.

“You’ve gotta keep up the good work in high school, alright, Rogers?” Mr. Patel says as Steve gets up to leave. “You can’t let Hydra win.”

Steve squares his shoulders and salutes to his teacher. “You have my word.”

Mr. Patel laughs and Steve forgoes his trip to the water fountain in favor of returning to his classroom and telling Bucky that there are vending machines in the teacher’s lounge. _Vending machines!_

Bucky doesn’t even believe him. Dum Dum does, though, and when Steve asks why he looks at him like Steve’s grown three heads.

“Where do you think I get the M&M’s?”

***

Their sixth grade graduation is a lot sadder than Steve had pictured it being. Just one week before their last day of school, the Howling Commandos take a blow when Gabe lopes into school with slumped shoulders and tells them that his father has been offered a job in France at that his family is shipping out at the start of the summer. Bucky offers up Rebecca’s room to him, but Gabe rejects it because not only is the room pink, but it’s Rebecca’s. Bucky grumbles about rather having Gabe than Rebecca, but Steve knows that’s a bold faced lie: why, just last week Bucky had chased Brock around the perimeter of the playground for a whole twenty minutes because he yanked one of Rebecca’s pigtails and made her cry.

Two days later Jacques arrives at the lunch table with a hangdog look on his face and explains that his family, too, has decided to return to France. Gabe is the only one excited by the news, and the two begin to speak in excited French while the rest of the gang pokes miserably at their mashed potatoes.

The next day it’s Dum Dum who stomps into class with red rimmed eyes and an uncharacteristic pout on his lips. The second he sees him, Bucky groans and slams his head on his desk. “Not you, too!” He whines.

“Boarding school.” Dum Dum says miserably. “I’ve got to wear a uniform and everything!” He complains, and Bucky and Steve both groan in sympathy. When Dum Dum breaks the news at lunch, Falsworth and Morita pound their fists against the table and swear on their mother’s lives that they’ll bust Dum Dum out of there if it’s the last thing they do. It makes Dum Dum smile, so Steve doesn’t point out how illogical their plan is.

Friday morning Steve begins wondering if this isn’t one of Jay’s stupid pranks, because there’s no way that Falsworth’s parents could seriously be moving to Massachusetts so that their elder son could be closer to MIT. Falsworth shrugs weakly and tries to keep his bottom lip from quivering as he lingers outside the door of his classroom and explains to Steve that his brother’s gifted, and that this is a great chance and blah, blah blah. Steve can tell that Falsworth’s just repeating whatever junk his parents told him, so he pats the boy on the shoulder and tells him he’ll see him at lunch. When the other boys find out, they can’t even properly enjoy their pizza, and Bucky goes so far as to throw his on the ground.

The following Monday the Howling Commandos are huddled together for quite possibly the last time. Steve’s been fighting tears since he woke up this morning, and he’s still refusing to let them fall even as he looks around at the faces of the boys he’s grown up with. 

They’ve all changed so much since they met each other—except for him of course. He’s still small and hopelessly fragile, but all the other boys have shot up like weeds. Dum Dum’s only gotten bigger, though the bowler hat atop his head remains a constant. Jack is carrying on a predominantly English conversation with Falsworth, whose English accent has begun to morph into something distinctly Brooklyn. 

And then there’s Bucky, who’s standing by his side as he’s done since the first day of first grade, and if anything Steve thinks that he’s growing into the hero that Steve’s always made him out to be. He’s grown the most of all of them, and now he even towers over Dum Dum who’d been the tallest of the group for three years running. He’s still got the same boyish face that Steve remembers, but the missing teeth have grown in and now Bucky’s got a perfect set of big kid teeth, unlike Steve who just lost his last one and is still waiting for it to come in.

He’s nudging at the gap in his teeth with his tongue when they see James come barreling down the hall looking like they just cancelled Power Rangers. Bucky sees him first and groans. “Here we go, Stevie…” He mumbles under his breath.

“Japan! We’re going to Japan!” James screams. Nearly every head in the room turns to look at them, and Bucky loudly tells them to quit staring and mind their business.

“Why?” Steve asks. 

“They want me to understand my culture.” James whines, throwing his head back with a miserable wail. “I don’t even like Japanese food! I’m from Fresno!” He continues.

“I’m telling ya, I’ll boot Rebecca right out of her room and you can take it, James.” Bucky offers, but Steve shoves him and tells him to cut it out.

“Eet may not be as bad at you theenk!” Jack says cheerily, but is immediately shut down by James’ glare.

“So this is it, then?” Dum Dum says sadly. It dawns on Steve that with Falsworth and James out of the picture, there’s gonna be no one to bail Dum Dum out of boarding school. His throat constricts as he fights a fresh wave of tears.

“This ain’t fair.” Bucky grumbles as he crosses his arms tight across his chest. Steve knows that tone of voice though, it means Bucky is about _this_ close to crying.

“I’m gonna miss you guys.” Gabe says solemnly as he hangs his head.

They stand silently in their circle, each fighting their own tears that threaten to drop at any moment. Finally, Jack looks up from the spot on the floor he’d been staring at and speaks with thinly veiled emotion. “But we will always be zee ‘owling Commandos, oui?”

And that does it, because Bucky chokes up first and drags all the boys into a huddle where they let go and just cry because you can’t spend six years together fighting the good fight and then not be just a little sad when the war’s over. Steve’s worried he’s gonna have a panic attack, but Bucky’s arm hanging around his shoulder keeps him grounded, because no matter what he’s still got Bucky.

Their teachers call them away and lead them to the auditorium where they’re split up alphabetically (Why ‘Rogers’ had to be so close to ‘Rumlow’, Steve doesn’t know.) and forced to sit through three musical numbers and a speech by their principal before they finally start calling names. 

Bucky is the first Howling Commando to graduate, and Steve hops out of his seat to cheer for him. Bucky shoots him a double thumbs-up before returning back to his seat with his diploma in his hand. Next comes “Dernier, Jacques” followed by “Dugan, Timothy”. Steve applauds for them both, and laughs when Dum Dum tosses his bowler hat into the air. Falsworth goes next and blushes eight shades of red when Mrs. Hepp announces his full name, “Falsworth, James Montgomery”, to the crowd. Gabe follows not long after and holds up his diploma while his mother makes the entire precession pause until she can get a decent picture of her son. When she finally relents, Gabe rolls his eyes and returns to his seat. Steve is glad that his parents are technological lepers and couldn’t figure out a camera if they put both their heads together. Next is James, who is seated so close to Mrs. Hepp that he just leans forward in his seat and plucks his diploma from her fingers without getting up which makes the whole crowd crack up. Bucky turns back to look at Steve in disbelief and Steve just shrugs because it seems like just type of thing Morita would do. 

Finally, it’s his turn. After Brock has returned to his seat, Steve his nearly vibrating with nerves as he waits for Mrs. Hepp to just call his freaking name already.

“Rogers, Steven.” She says warmly and he springs from his seat just a hair too quickly. He rushes forward to get his diploma and beams when the Howling Commandos give him a standing ovation—even James, who didn’t even stand up to get his own diploma. Steve blushes and returns to his seat just as quickly as he left it and releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

When the graduates gather backstage in the auditorium and wait to be dismissed by their teachers, the Howling Commandos stand in a tight circle, trading stories of their adventures over the past few years.

“Wait, wait!” Dum Dum says as he wipes a joyful tear from his rosy cheeks. “Remember when Morita pantsed Rumlow, and then when he tried to chase after him he tripped into a puddle of mud!” He cried happily.

The boys all laugh along and only pause when Bucky breaks in with a story of his own, “Or, oh God, what about the time when Stevie here took Zola’s sandwich and put glue in it after Zola ripped up Peggy Carter’s painting of her cat!”

Steve recalls the incident vividly and still gets mad when he thinks about it. Peggy had been working really hard on that picture, and Zola just ripped it right in half just when she nearly had it done. There wasn’t enough glue in the world to justify Zola’s actions, but Steve tried.

Not to be out done, Steve nudges Bucky with his elbow. “Well how about that time that you came in on Halloween dressed as Alexander! You even had on that blonde wig and that stupid sweater vest he wears!”

The Commandos howl with laughter, but this time their mirth is cut short when Morita’s teacher calls his class to attention and tells them to follow her in single file. James looks from her to his friends and smiles softly. “Well boys, until we meet again.” He says wistfully before turning and falling into line with his classmates.

The rest watch him go sadly, and pretty soon their numbers begin to dwindle more quickly than Steve is ready for. Gabe and Jack leave together, since they’re both in the same class and the same goes for Falsworth and Dum Dum. Before he knows it, Steve is standing side by side with Bucky, and suddenly it’s like the last five years haven’t even happened. Suddenly, it’s Sickly Steve and Bucky Bear, alone in the world again.

Steve worries his bottom lip between his teeth before speaking softly, nervously, because he’s afraid of the answer to his question. “You’re not goin’ anywhere, right Buck?” He asks softly.

Bucky scoffs and looks down on Steve like he couldn’t have asked a more stupid question before wrapping his arm around Steve’s bony shoulders and pulling the smaller boy to his side. “’Course not, pal!” He says with an easy smile. “I’m with you, ‘til the end of the line.”


	2. S.H.I.E.L.D. Middle School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Some other folks might be a little bit smarter than I am  
> Bigger and stronger too  
> Maybe  
> But none of them  
> Will ever love you the way I do."
> 
> _You've Got a Friend in Me_ // Randy Newman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what was meant to be a 3 part story has evolved into 5 chapters because I can't help myself. It was meant to be Elementary/High School/College but High School became so massive that I had to split it in two.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's massive due to the fact that I figured I should actually elaborate on The Avenger relationships since I'm going to use them throughout the rest of the story.
> 
> Comments and suggestions and thoughts and whatever else you can think to throw my way are welcome!! Thank you to everyone who's reading and supporting this big ol' train wreck o' feelings.

He’s ten minutes into his walk to school and he already has his face in the dirt, but this time he’s laughing at himself and Bucky is laughing right along with him, so he’s content with hopping back to his feet and dusting himself off while Bucky throws his head back and mocks Steve for clumsiness.

S.H.I.E.L.D High is a twenty minute walk from Steve’s house, and behind that is S.H.I.E.L.D. Middle School, so he and Bucky decided to skip the bumpy bus ride and make the journey on foot. Bucky’d spent last night on the blow up mattress reserved just for him on Steve’s floor and kept Steve up until the wee hours of the morning with a million questions about what he thought middle school would be like.

“You think they really shove the new kids in lockers?”

“You think we’ll get lost on our way to class?”

“You think the food’s as shitty as they say?”

Bucky’s been picking up his dad’s sharp tongue and doesn’t even try to hide how much pleasure he gets from watching Steve blush and splutter. The first time he’d let a curse slip, Steve dropped the glass he was holding and blushed so hard he thought his cheeks would burn off.

But a colorful vocabulary wasn’t the only thing that Bucky had picked up over the summer.

As they walk, Steve watches Bucky out of the corner of his eye. Bucky’s only grown taller since the sixth grade, a fact that Steve observes with thinly veiled jealousy. “Your time will come, Steve, don’t worry!” his mother says, his father says, Bucky himself says. Steve’s not so optimistic. Even after the small growth spurt he’d gotten right around his twelfth birthday, the top of Steve’s head barely reaches Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky’s also picked up a glowing tan while all Steve’s got to show for himself is a sunburn that begins at his hairline and doesn’t stop until the tips of his toes. He’d gotten it when Bucky’s parents had taken him and Bucky and Rebecca to Coney Island for Rebecca’s birthday. As if the sunburn weren’t bad enough, Bucky made Steve ride The Cyclone until he puked up every last bit of deep fried garbage he’d eaten that day. Granted, Bucky sat in the bathroom stall with him the entire time and apologized like crazy, but the smile on his face and the devilish glint in his eyes told Steve that he really wasn’t that sorry at all.

They rode The Cyclone two more times after that.

But apparently projectile vomiting wasn’t punishment enough and now Steve’s got to walk around looking like a crimson beacon. Bucky swears that it’s hardly noticeable, but Steve knows better. He just wishes that he didn’t have to go and burn himself to a crisp two days before they started school. He says as much to Bucky as they turn down School Street.

“Come on, pal. You’re worrying about nothing.” Bucky says easily as he nudges Steve with his elbow. “I bet tons of kids are gonna look just like you. That’s what you get for not letting Ma put any sunblock on you.”

Steve shrugs and decides not to tell Bucky that his own mother had practically bathed him in the stuff before she sent Steve off. He figures Bucky protects him from enough already, and he shouldn’t have to add the freakin’ sun to his list of enemies.

“Steve, I’m serious. You’re thinking too much.” Bucky says, more serious now than he was before. “You seen Gilmore Hodge’s haircut? I ran into him at the store with my ma the other day and let me tell you something, Stevie: no one’s gonna be lookin’ at your sunburn so long as that kid’s walking around.” He says.

Steve tries to fight a smile, but fails, and can’t help but turn to Bucky with a wide grin. “How bad is it?”

Bucky smiles back just as wide. “You remember when Becky cut her own hair with safety scissors?”

“She had a bald spot, didn’t she?”

“It looks a bit like that.”

Steve laughs until his sides ache, and then he laughs some more. Bucky’s laughing right along with him as they approach the school yard and set foot on sacred school ground for the first time. Steve doesn’t even have time to panic before he and Bucky are swept in with the crowd and carried with the current. For a moment Steve frets that he’s gonna get pulled under and trampled, but then Bucky wraps a firm hand around his upper arm and anchors Steve to his side and the fear fades away.

***

Steve’s knee won’t stop jittering as he stares at the clock waiting for the bell to go off signaling the official start of his middle school career. He thinks it’s started off pretty well so far: he opened his locker on the first try, his schedule isn’t a total disaster, and he hadn’t gotten completely lost on his way to homeroom. It’s so far, so good, as far as he’s concerned.

He takes his eyes off the clock for a second to glance around the room and look for any familiar faces. He comes up blank, so he pulls out his phone to text Bucky and asks if he’s got any luck in his homeroom.

**BUCKY:** I got Peggy Carter. Wbu? Did Rumlow drop out after 6th grade?

Steve had completely forgotten about Brock Rumlow, and by all means Brock should be sitting in the room at this point, seeing as how there’s mere minutes before the bells goes off and yet he’s nowhere to be found.

**STEVE:** He musta. He’s not here.

**BUCKY:** Probably couldn’t figure out his times tables and had to stay back

Steve’s laugh is cut short when a feminine, even toned voice from behind him speaks up. “You’re not supposed to text in school, you know.”

Steve turns and gets a face full of combat boot that makes him jerk back in his seat. He takes the time to look behind the boots and sees a girl with red hair and a wicked smirk watching him like a hawk from where she sits reclined in her seat with her feet on the desk.

“Pretty sure you’re not supposed to use the desk as a footrest, either. Put your feet down.” Steve scolds her.

“Not ‘til you put your phone away.” She challenges.

Steve rolls his eyes and tucks his phone into his pocket, glancing expectantly at the girl’s heavy boots until she huffs out a sigh and puts her legs beneath her desk.

Steve hums in satisfaction before twisting in his seat so he’s facing forward again. He can still feel the girl’s eyes burning into the back of his head, but he steadfastly ignores her, choosing instead to watch as the last few seconds before the bell tick away.

“You know, I heard that if you watch the clock, time actually goes slower.” The girl says, this time leaning conspiratorially over her desk to ensure that Steve hears her.

“Time is a constant thing, it can’t go faster or slower.” Steve says smartly.

He hears the girl behind him chortle. “Geez, alright, Spock. I’m just trying to have a conversation.”

Steve’s shoulders sag a little and he turns to look at the girl over his shoulder. Her green eyes are shining with mischief, and although she says her motive is conversation, Steve’s not entirely buying it. Still, he smiles softly and apologizes. “By the way, I’m—.”

The bell cuts him off and the classroom door bangs open and a boy bursts into the room with his toothbrush still hanging out of his mouth and sunglasses covering most of his face. Steve watches with horror as the boy spits his toothpaste in the trash by the door and, as an afterthought, tosses the toothbrush in there, too. He adjusts his glasses on his way to his seat and plops down gracelessly into the vacant spot in front of Steve. This kid’s certainly not Rumlow, and Steve’s debating on asking when the girl behind him grumbles, “Same old Stark,” under her breath.

“Natasha, have you got something to say?” The boy in front of Steve, Stark, says without looking at her, “Or should I call you Natalie?”

“Still butthurt about that, are we?” She responds coldly.

“Butthurt about how you convinced me your name was Natalie Rushman for six years? Oh yeah, we’re still butthurt.”

Steve just glances between the two people God has cursed him to sit between and wonders what the hell they’re talking about. He’s still gaping like a fish when Stark acknowledges his presence. “Woah, geez, are you some kind of gifted child?” He asks as he lowers his sunglasses to look at Steve.

“Sorry?” Steve asks, unclear on what Stark means.

“Come on, how old are you? Eight?” Stark asks, gesturing to Steve’s pitiful frame and now he gets it. Stark thinks he’s one of those wonder kids he hears about on TV every once in a blue moon— _Atlanta boy, 13, graduates Harvard Law, San Diego girl, 9, discovers the meaning of life_. Steve’s pretty sure he should be offended by the assumption.

“Don’t you think it’s a little early to be making enemies, Stark?” Natasha, Natalie, whoever…chimes in.

Stark looks scandalized. “I’m not making an enemy, I’m just wondering what a newborn is doing in homeroom.”

Now Steve knows he should be offended. “I ain’t a newborn, Stark.” He says flatly.

Tony’s eyebrows rise at his tone. “So you’re not a wonder kid?” He asks, to which Steve only shakes his head in response. Tony pushes his sunglasses back up his face with a mournful sigh. “That’s too bad, I was hoping there was someone like me here, you know? Another big fish in a small pond, or whatever.” He says flippantly as he turns in his seat to face forward.

Steve’s so confused that he turns to the only other person in the room that he thinks could help him. When he spins in his seat, Natasha is looking at him expectantly as if she’s been waiting for him to ask. “If you don’t recognize him by the last name, that’s Tony Stark. Stark Industries? Ringing any bells?” She asks.

Now that she puts it all together for him, there are bells ringing in Steve’s head. Howard Stark is the world’s leading innovator in sustainable power, and he has a son that Steve heard was some kind of child prodigy. Steve finds it kind of hard to believe that the future of reliable, clean energy just threw his toothbrush in a public school trash can, but when he voices this concern, Natasha only shrugs.

Any other questions Steve has die in his throat when he lays eyes on the man striding through the door. His moves seem cold, calculated, and careful, and Steve can’t help the way that his whole body stiffens in the man’s presence. For God’s sake, the guy has an eye patch and wears and black trench coat that nearly touches the floor as it billows behind him. When he speaks, his voice is just as unnerving and commanding as the rest of him.

“Ladies and gentleman, I welcome you to the S.H.I.E.L.D. school district. I’m not going to tell you what it stands for because I don’t have the time and I know you don’t really care. I hope the next six years of your academic career are as educational as they are exciting.” Steve has never heard someone make the word ‘exciting’ seem as terrifying as this man does. “I am Mr. Fury, and I will be overseeing this school district for the foreseeable future. As I have done for your other classmates in previous classrooms, I’m gonna lay down some ground rules I want you to follow.” He announces before slowly scanning every face in the room to make sure he has their full attention.

When Fury’s speech draws to a close he leaves the room without so much as a formal goodbye, shutting the door firmly behind him. A stunned silence lingers in his wake, and Steve is glad to know he’s not the only one a little bit terrified.

At eight o’clock the bell rings and Steve is off to his first class of the day. While in the halls he pulls his phone from his pocket, intending to respond to Bucky’s text, but finds another message from him already waiting.

**BUCKY:** I’m thinking of a number between 1 and 1,000: How many people do you think Fury’s killed?

Steve taps out a response while fighting the tide of students in the hall.

**STEVE:** Are we talking emotionally or physically?

Somewhere in the crowd, Steve thinks he can hear Bucky laughing, but there are a lot of things that Steve thinks he can hear in the hallway right now, chief among them being jeers directed toward a boy that’s barreling down the hallways looking harried with a backpack strapped over his shoulders that looks like it weighs about as much as Steve does. Steve can hear older, deeper voices calling him The Incredible Bulk while other kids kick at his backpack, but the boy hurries on down the hall without pause. Steve already admires him, whoever he is.

He makes it to his first period class, art, without attracting any bullies of his own. He’s just settling into his seat and thinking that maybe, just maybe, middle school could be different for him when Jay Schmidt strolls into the art room. He’s gotten bigger since Steve had seen him last, and from where he’s sitting it looks like Jay might even be bigger than Bucky now. The thought makes Steve swallow thickly and avert his gaze.

He’s still staring resolutely at the pale grey desk top in front of him when someone slips silently into the seat beside him and a familiar, even voice speaks to him. “I should’ve guessed you’d be the artsy type.”

Steve looks over to see Natasha smirking at him.

“I wouldn’t say I’m the artsy type. I didn’t even pick this class.” He says, which is mostly true. He didn’t pick this class, which Natasha must know as a fellow seventh grader. No one gets to pick their classes until ninth grade and until then you just take what you’re given. As for being artsy, his skills certainly have improved since his first grade drawing of dogs. Lately he’s even graduated to people and is beginning to fill up sketchbooks with rough drawings of his mother, his father, Bucky, and anyone else who will sit still for more than a second. He’s even tried drawing a few of the Howling Commandos from memory, but he can hardly do them justice.

Natasha just hums in agreement and the two don’t talk again for the rest of the class. On the way out the door, Jay catches Steve by the back of the collar and yanks him to his side, speaking right into Steve’s ear. “Where’s your back up Rogers? I didn’t know you left the house without them.”

Steve swallows thickly but maintains a steady voice. “I don’t need their help, Schmidt.”

“You will.” He threatens ominously.

“Steve, you alright?” Natasha asks as she lingers in the doorway.

“I’m fine.” Steve says stiffly as he breaks Jay’s hold on his collar and falls into step beside Natasha.

“Care to tell me on who that was?” She asks as they walk. Steve’s got social studies next, and that’s all the way on the other side of the school, so he walks fast and Natasha matches his every step.

“Some jerk I knew in elementary school, that’s all.” He explains stiffly.

Natasha makes a disgusted noise as she looks over her shoulder, glaring in the direction that Jay once was. “Some kids never grow up.”

“Natasha, we’re twelve.” Steve reminds her.

“Physically.” She says cryptically before veering off into her own classroom. 

Steve barely has time to ponder the deeper meaning behind her statement before he’s got two big bodies on either side of him, bracketing him in as he moves down the hall. He looks to his right and sees Bucky and to his left he sees a boy he’s never met before with sandy brown hair and blue eyes that aren’t quite as blue as Bucky’s, but they’re close.

“You never answered my text, you punk.” Bucky chides as he gently ribs Steve. “I’m serious; I think this school’s being run by a mass murderer.”

“What do you think he’s got under the eye patch?” The boy on Steve’s left asks. “I’m thinking it’s a cybernetic eye that can pick up heat signatures and shit like that. Or maybe it’s a plain old glass eye that he throws at kids who misbehave…” He muses aloud.

“I dunno, I think he’s just a scary looking guy with a busted eye.” Steve says, swallowing the urge to reprimand the boy for swearing. “I don’t think they’d let a killer run a school district, and I definitely don’t think he’d throw his eye at kids.”

Steve eventually learns that the boy with the vivid imagination pertaining to Fury’s mysterious eye is Clint Barton, whom Bucky met in homeroom and took an immediate liking to. Steve can see why, the pair has the same raunchy humor that drives Steve straight up a wall. It’s like having two Bucky’s around, which seems good in theory, but Steve only has enough patience to deal with the original, which means that when the three of them all walk into the same history class Steve has to pray for the patience to deal with the crude comical styling of The Clint and Bucky Show.

When Steve arrives at his math class—wheezing a little after having to climb a flight of stairs—the first thing he notices is the monstrous green backpack that dominates the desk in the front dead center of the classroom. From just over the backpack Steve can see a mousy looking boy with dark, tousled hair and golden rimmed glasses, and he recognizes him as The Incredible Bulk from earlier today. Steve moves to the desk pushed right against the brown haired boy’s and asks if it’s alright if he sits there. The other boy looks stunned for a moment, but ultimately nods and goes so far as to pull Steve’s chair out for him.

Steve settles in before introducing himself. “Hey, I’m Steve.” He says brightly.

The boy eyes him wearily before speaking softly. “Are you gonna bully me, Steve?”

Steve’s eyes widen as he sputter out a denial. “No, no, Geez, no!”

The boy smiles apologetically. “I’m sorry, that was mean. I’m just used to being treated a certain kind of way.” He says sadly. “I’m Bruce.”

“Bruce.” Steve repeats warmly. “Nice to meet you Bruce.”

As soon as class starts Bruce zones out and ignores Steve completely, which is fine by him. Steve’s just trying to keep his head above water as his teacher lists off all the lessons they’re going to cover this year. While Steve’s wondering how the Hell they’re expected to cram all this stuff into a single school year, Bruce is mumbling under his breath about how it all sounds “ _too easy_ ” and how he “ _should have just skipped to eleventh grade._ ” Steve thinks fleetingly of Stark and his desire to find other gifted children and entertains the idea of telling Bruce about the school’s other prodigy, but he can’t even get the words out of his mouth before Bruce is pressing a finger to his lips and shushing him into silence.

Steve’s next class is gym, which not only sucks because it’s gym but it also sucks because Steve is so hopelessly, pitifully lost that he doesn’t know up from down and of all rooms in this Godforsaken school, one would think the gymnasium would be the easiest to find. Steve texts Bucky in a blind panic and gets a completely unhelpful answer in return.

**BUCKY:** I dunno pal, follow the smell of human suffering, I guess.

As the halls begin thinning out, Steve really starts to go into overdrive. As he nervously darts down the hall he spots what he can only assume is an upperclassman ahead and decides to just bite the bullet and ask him for help. Sure, he’ll probably mercilessly pick on Steve for being a “Stupid Sevvie” or whatever upperclassman call newcomers, but at this point Steve could care less. At least if this kid beats him up, he’ll have an excuse to be late for gym.

Steve’s beginning to wonder if he’s even still a kid at all by the time he reaches him and taps gingerly on his muscled arm that’s about the same size at Steve’s entire body. The older boy looks down on him with confusion and Steve suddenly feels like a bug splattered on the windshield of this guy’s life. “Hey, I’m sorry, I’m new here and I can’t find the gym. Can you help me?” He asks, silently adding ‘ _and please don’t kill me_ ,’ to the end of that question.

For a moment the boy says nothing, and Steve’s already accepted the fact that he’ll probably spend the rest of the day shoved in a locker, but then Steve is blinded by the boy’s smile and nearly defended by his booming laughter.

“You, too, are looking for the room of physical education, then?” the boy all but screams in the midst of the empty hallway. Steve just gapes at him and nods. The clap that the other boy delivers to his back agitates his sunburn and Steve fights the urge to howl in pain. “Well, my friend let us not waste any more time, shall we?” He continues in the same painfully loud voice as before.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Steve asks as he trots a few steps behind this…specimen. Steve’s not even sure if he can call him a boy when he’s got a voice that loud and a laugh like a clap of thunder. Even the way he talks suggests that he’s some type of confused alien that was beamed into traditional American school and can’t get back home.

“Nay, though I suppose the journey is half the experience, is it not?” He booms, and Steve is seriously considering asking him to tone it down, but one glance at the size of the other’s fist is all Steve needs to keep his mouth shut about the volume at which this creature operates.

“You…uh…you got a name?” Steve asks tentatively. He figures he should probably stop referring to him as ‘specimen’ and ‘creature’, it’s only polite.

The taller boy beams down on him and Steve is seriously convinced that the guy swallowed the sun. “I am Thor Odinson! I hail from the land of Asgard and I am here to complete my six years of high school education before I may return to my kingdom as their ruler.” Thor says grandly, leaving Steve gob smacked and grasping for straws as he mulls over how to reply to that.

“So, Asgard…Is that in Europe, or…” Steve tries.

Thor watches him carefully for a moment before nodding. “Europe…yes.” He says vaguely as he continues to lead Steve god knows where. For all he knows, they could be in Asgard right now and Steve wouldn’t be any the wiser. “And who are you, my friend?”

“Oh, well, I’m Steve Rogers.” Steve says awkwardly, knowing his introduction doesn’t quite compare to Thor’s.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Steve Rogers!” Thor booms as he claps Steve on the back once again, missing the way Steve winces under the force.

He and Thor never do find the gym, but Steve’s really not too upset about it. By the time the bell rings to signal the end of the period, Steve’s learned that Thor has a great appreciation for Pop-Tarts, a vast knowledge of space, and a little brother named Luke or something like that who’s Steve’s age. Steve was right when he assumed Thor was older, but he’s still flabbergasted to find that he’s only in eighth grade. He’s still watching his flowing mane of golden hair bob over all the other heads in the hall when Bucky comes up beside him and follows his line of vision.

“Who the hell is that?” Bucky asks, sounding every bit as supervised as Steve had been when he’d first laid eyes on the practical god that had fallen into their humble school.

“That’s Thor.” Steve says casually without so much as glancing in Bucky’s direction. “He’s here to finish his education, then he’s gonna go back to Asgard and become King.”

Bucky’s head snaps toward Steve so quickly he’s surprised his neck didn’t snap. Steve still doesn’t meet his eyes and shrugs as he begins walking down the hall towards his lunch block class—basic science. Bucky’s hot on his heels the entire time, bombarding Steve with questions like, “ _What the hell’s an ‘Asgard’?_ ” and “ _What do you mean ‘King’?_ ” Steve remains silent, partly because he doesn’t know the answers, and partly because he likes watching the color rise on Bucky’s face as he gets frustrated.

Bucky lingers at the doorway when Steve slips into his science class, glaring daggers at his best friend and mouthing, ‘ _This isn’t over,_ ’ before turning on his heel and heading to his own class.

Steve sees Stark in the back row of this class, and although he’s chatting up the strawberry blonde at the table next to him, the seat directly to his left is vacant, so Steve slips into the chair without a second thought.

When the teacher, Mr. Selvig, calls the class into order he begins listing off what he calls the “Basic Facts of Science”, or he at least tries to. The poor guy can no sooner state one of his facts than Stark’s hard pierces the air and he’s instantly rattling off argument after argument that proves this theory wrong, that theory inconclusive, this man’s research null and void… Steve can’t tell who’s more annoyed: himself, Mr. Selvig, or the strawberry blonde at the table next to Stark.

The lunch bell rings halfway through the period and Steve’s the second one out after Mr. Selvig who’s running from the classroom like it’s on fire.

The cafeteria is a madhouse and Steve thanks his lucky stars that he catches a glimpse of Bucky among the chaos. After he gets his tray of Lunchroom Surprise, Steve makes a b-line for the table Bucky’s at and can see that Clint’s already seated to his left, leaving a chair open for Steve to take, which he does, collapsing into the seat with a heavy sigh.

“Basic science got you bummin’?” Bucky asks.

Steve shakes his head. “Tony Stark’s got me bummin’.” He corrects.

Clint visibly flinches next to Bucky. “You’re in a science class with Stark? Tough break.”

“You know him?” Steve asks as he pokes at the mystery meat on his tray.

Clint snorts and rolls his eyes. “Everyone knows him.”

“I don’t.” Bucky says. His eyebrows knit together in confusion as he scans the incoming crowd still pouring through the cafeteria doors. “What’s he look like?”

“You’ll know him when you see him.” Clint says simply.

“Excuse me, gifted youngster coming through. Need to get in here, pal.” Tony’s voice announces loudly as he pushes through the crowd. Steve rolls his eyes at his arrogance.

“Or, you know, when you hear him...” Clint says.

Bucky’s chuckling with disbelief. “Is this kid for real?” He asks.

The corner of Clint’s mouth quirks into a smirk, “He grows on you.”

Steve tries to bear those words in mind when he returns to class, but Stark doesn’t make it easy. Bruce and Tony must’ve found each other without Steve’s help, because when he arrives in the classroom Bruce has taken his seat and for a moment Steve panics about where he’s supposed to sit but then the strawberry blonde from the table next to Stark’s speaks up and offers him the seat beside her.

Steve thanks her and doesn’t notice the way Tony’s glaring at him until the boy speaks up with a clipped tone. “Well, if it isn’t the not-so-wonderful Wonder Kid.”

Steve’s expression hardens and he goes to say something scathing in return, but the girl to his left beats him to it. “Do you ever get tired of listening to your own voice, Tony?”

Tony manages to look both offended and impressed before answering. “No, I don’t. In fact I fall asleep to recordings of myself talking. Why, Pepper, does it bother you?”

Pepper, as Tony had called her, laughs humorlessly. “I’ve listened to you talk to yourself for ten years, Tony. It doesn’t just bother me; it makes me want to tear my hair out.”

Tony smiles despite the insult. “That’d be a shame. I like your hair, it makes your freckles stand out.” He says before turning and diving into a complicated conversation about God-knows-what with Bruce. 

Pepper’s blushing when she turns to Steve, and he sees that Stark wasn’t kidding: Pepper’s got constellations of freckles that cover her cheeks and nose, only made more obvious by the flush of her skin. “Don’t let him get to you.” She says.

Steve assures her that he won’t and the two spend the rest of the class sharing commiserating glances with each other as Tony and Bruce tag team Mr. Selvig and his not-quite-correct facts about the world of science.

After putting all of his energy into not killing Stark, Steve’s running on autopilot for the rest of the day. After he flees from Basic Science like a man possessed he wanders into his French class and doesn’t recognize a single familiar face. He’s still dawdling in the doorway trying to decide where to sit when a soft English accent comes from behind him.

“Hop to, Captain Rogers. You’re holding up the line.”

Steve turns and sees Peggy Carter and a few other students standing in the doorway, all waiting on Steve to get a move on. Steve steps aside and lets everyone by, blushing and stammering his apologies as they pass. Peggy offers him a warm smile and nods to the seat next to hers as she settles in at the front of the class.

“No one’s called me Captain since sixth grade.” He says when he sits down.

Peggy smiles warmly and shrugs. “I think it suits you.”

Peggy’s really good at French, as it turns out. She and their teacher are able to keep up a surprisingly long conversation that Steve can’t follow despite the fact that he spent a year of his life listening to Jacques speak the same language.

“My parents moved around a lot. We spent quite a while in France before we settled in here.” Peggy explains while they fill out a _Get to Know Me_ sheet. “I also know German. I know how to tell Schmidt and Zola to screw themselves in their own language, if you’re interested.”

Steve makes a mental note to ask her for that translation later because he’s got a strong feeling that Bucky would put that knowledge to good use as soon as possible.

In English Steve’s got no one, not even Tony Stark. He figures that now’s the time to branch out and make friends, so he turns to the boy on his right with straight, shoulder length black hair and introduces himself.

The boy slowly looks up from where he’d been glaring at his desk and gives Steve a cold once over before narrowing his eyes maliciously. “You dare speak to me, as if I am your equal?”

Steve recoils and gapes soundlessly for a minute. “I—yeah.”

The boy scoffs and faces forward again, his lips set in an arrogant smirk that’s like Tony’s, only worse. “I have no equal.” He says shortly and Steve just drops the conversation—if he can even call it that.

When the teacher takes attendance the boy to Steve’s right responds to the name Loki Odinson, and it rings a familiar bell in Steve’s head. He’s Thor’s brother, though the two couldn’t look less related if they tried.

“Hey, you’re Thor’s little brother, right?” Steve whispers while the teacher continues to rattle off names.

Loki gives Steve a withering glance and sneers at his brother’s name. “Unfortunately.”

Steve’s eyebrows rise and he decides then and there to just give up because clearly he’s getting nowhere with this kid. He’s having a hard time believing this is the same boy who Thor claims tells the best jokes in the world and pulls all the greatest pranks.

The bell rings at 2 o’clock on the dot and Steve couldn’t be more thankful. He’s standing at his locker when he hears the soft metallic thud of a body leaning against the locker next to his. He peers out from behind the door and sees Bucky looking thoroughly exhausted.

“What’s the matter, Buck? You look like you just came back from war.”

“I’ve got gym with Stark from now ‘til the end of the semester. The war’s just getting started, Stevie.” Bucky says.

Steve smiles despite his friend’s misery. “Take it you two don’t get along?”

The look on Bucky’s face says it all and Steve continues to laugh as he loads up his backpack.

***

If Steve had known that the kids he met on the first day of middle school were gonna be the kids that he would call his best friends by high school graduation, well, he probably would have switched schools.

It starts with Natasha.

Well, actually, it starts with Steve, Clint, and Bucky all at their usual lunch table two weeks after the start of the school year. Steve and Clint are both half-listening as Bucky seethes over the fact that they’re serving peas at lunch today when Natasha suddenly drops into the vacant seat next to Clint.

“So my foot’s totally stuck in there, right? I’m freaking out, the dog’s having a seizure, and I’ve still got half a pie left…” She says, immediately engaging Clint in the middle of what sounds like a wild story that Steve would really like to hear the start of. He watches on and tries his best to follow along with the story, but he loses it after the penguin and the eggplant and he can tell that Bucky’s about as lost as he is. They must’ve missed out on one hell of an ending, though, because when Natasha finishes with a cry of, “So then my cousin says, ‘Это не так, как вы готовите лазанью!’” Clint laughs harder than Steve’s ever seen. His fists pound the table as Natasha throws her head back with wild laughter.

Bucky turns to Steve with confusion etched in his every feature and Steve can only shrug.

“So I take it you two know each other?” Steve asks when their laughter dies down and it seems like they’ll be able to form words other than ‘ _Holy shit!_ ’ and ‘ _Oh my god, but the scuba suit!_ ’

Clint starts like he’s forgotten Steve and Bucky are even there and Natasha’s laughter dies a quick and sudden death. She fixes Steve with the unnerving, critical stare he’s come to associate with her. “Nice observation, Sherlock. Got anything else you wanna deduce for us? Maybe you can tell us what processed garbage they’re serving for lunch.”

“They’re serving peas!” Bucky cries, pointing at the offending vegetable with his fork.

Natasha’s eyebrows shoot up her forehead as she looks between Steve and Bucky. “Oh, good. You’ve found yourself a Watson who can state the obvious just as well as you can.”

Clint’s takes pity on them and explains that he and Natasha have known each other even since Natasha moved in next door to Clint’s family.

“Yeah, that’s great and all, but what I wanna know is what a scuba suit’s got to do with the dog.” Bucky says, and Steve has to fight the urge to roll his eyes because _of course_ Bucky only cares about the dog.

Natasha offers him no answers. “You had to be there, I guess.”

Bucky mocks her in a high pitched voice under his breath and returns to stabbing at his peas.

The next day Natasha returns to their table and this time she’s got Pepper in tow. Bucky’s immediately protesting Pepper’s presence at the table because even he knows that where she goes…

_He_ follows.

“Rogers! My god, I almost didn’t recognize you without that lovely sunburn.” Tony says as he drops his lunchbox next to Pepper and slides into his seat. “Barnes, always good to see your smiling face.”

Both Bucky and Steve are scowling.

“What? Come on, boys. I know we got off to a rough start but I’m trying to toss you the olive branch here.” Tony says. When neither Steve nor Bucky’s expressions change he rolls his eyes and dips into his lunchbox, pulling out two Hostess Cupcakes from inside. “What if I were to sweeten the deal, huh?”

Bucky immediately relents and tears into the cupcake like he’s been starved. He pointedly avoids Steve’s judgmental gaze as he stuffs his cheeks with chocolate cake.

“What about you, Rogers? You look like you could use some meat on those bones.” Tony says as he waves the cupcake in front of Steve’s face. “You know you want to!” He continues in a sing-song voice.

“I’m good. Thanks.” Steve says shortly.

Tony studies him for a moment before shrugging. “Suit yourself. I’ll save it for Bruce.” He says before placing the cupcake down in the front of the seat next to him.

The cupcake waits on the table for ten more minutes before Bruce wanders into the cafeteria. His shoulders are slumped under the weight of his massive backpack and his head is hanging low as water drips from the tips of his hair. He collapses into his chair and offers no explanation as to why he’s soaked from his hair to his shoulders. Tony, of course, pries right into the issue.

“Did the raincloud over your head finally burst, buddy?” Tony asks.

Bruce shakes his head and water droplets hit the table. He wipes at them with the sleeves of his sweatshirt before answering. “It was Blonsky again. Swirly this time.” Bruce says in a small voice.

“He shoved your head in the toilet?” Steve blurts.

The withering glare that Tony gives him isn’t an expression that he’s used to seeing on Stark’s face. “That’s usually what a swirly entails, Rogers.” He says stiffly before turning back to Bruce. “You gotta stand up to him.”

Bruce just shrugs. “You know I can’t do that.”

Tony heaves an overdramatic sigh before standing abruptly from the table.

“Where are you going?” Pepper asks, though the worried look on her face suggests that she already knows the answer and she doesn’t like it.

“I’m gonna break into the IT department and flunk Blonsky from here to the drive thru of McDonalds.” Tony says simply before turning on his heel and marching out of the cafeteria.

“Can he do that?” Steve asks in awe as he watches Stark go.

“He’s done it before.” Pepper answers while she, too, watches Tony until he disappears around a corner. “Believe it or not, he’s got a heart.”

Steve hums in thought and comes to the conclusion that if Stark’s willing to put his bright future in jeopardy just to protect a friend, he really can’t be too bad after all.

The next day when Tony arrives at the table Steve accepts the cupcake that Tony offers. Bucky’s slightly put out that Stark didn’t bring him one, too, so Steve splits his in half and hands over the bigger piece to him. 

When Thor comes around to the table it’s like watching a scorned Labrador sit outside in the rain and wait for someone to let it back inside. There’s one seat left at the table between Tony and Steve and Thor’s staring right at it when he speaks.

“Steve Rogers, might I sit at your table and feast with you and your friends?” He asks, and Steve knows there must be something wrong because his voice doesn’t deafen him.

“Absolutely!” Steve says quickly, gesturing to the seat.

Thor’s sunshine smile returns to his face and he drops his trays (yes, _trays_ ) in front of himself and happily digs in. Steve isn’t even aware of the strange looks he’s getting from around the table until Bucky clears his throat.

“Oh, right!” Steve says, “Guys, this is Thor. Thor, these are my friends.”

Before anyone even has a chance to introduce themselves, Tony pipes up in true Stark fashion. “So tell me, Pointbreak, what brings you to our humble table?”

Thor swallows the massive bite he’s just taken and the sad expression he’d been wearing a few moments ago returns. “Loki has forbidden me from eating with him. He ordered me to find a new table to sit at.”

“Don’t let him get to you.” Steve says reassuringly as he tentatively pats Thor’s shoulder.

“Seriously,” Bruce chimes in, “That kid’s brain is a bag of cats. You can smell the crazy on him.”

Thor fixes Bruce with a hard stare. “He’s my brother.” He says flatly.

“He called half the kids in our math class simpletons and then told the other half he would consider sparing their lives when he took over the world.” Natasha says in Bruce’s defense.

Thor pauses with his next bite of Mystery Meat suspended halfway between his tray and his mouth. “He’s adopted.” He says quickly before stuffing the bite in his mouth.

The entire table scoffs and then returns to what they’d been talking about prior to Thor’s arrival.

***

Their group isn’t solidified until one day when Steve feels a sharp prick of pain on the back of his neck. He spins in his chair and from across the cafeteria he can see Schmidt and Zola leering at him from their table where they’ve got a few dozen paper wasps stacked up and ready for fire. They’re surrounded by their new gang of mindless drones that they’ve gathered over the past month. 

They’ve got Obadiah Stane, and eighth grader who’s also the bane of Tony’s existence for reasons he won’t explain, as well as Blonsky and Samuel Sterns who were partners in crime long before they joined Schmidt and who make it their personal mission to make Bruce’s life Hell. Alexander Pierce is still by their side but just as Steve had assumed, Rumlow moved away and was no longer a part of their group. Good riddance, as far as Steve’s concerned.

“What do they think they’re doing?” Bucky asks while he glares right along with Steve.

“Paper wasps.” Steve grumbles.

Bucky turns back in his seat and picks up his fork, knife, and a couple of peas. “Anyone got a rubber band?”

Everyone gives Bucky a weird look before shaking their heads. “Something troubles you, Steve?” Thor asks.

Steve shrugs. “It’s just Schmidt and his stupid brother.” He mutters. So far in the year he’s had very little to do with Schmidt despite the class they share together. Steve thinks it’s got something to do with the glare that Natasha sends him any time he gets near Steve. It’s the same glare she sends Steve’s way when he reaches for the last chocolate pudding cup, so Steve knows exactly how it feels to be on the receiving end and doesn’t fault Jay one bit for keeping his distance.

That being said, he wishes Schmidt could’ve kept his distance a little longer.

“Hey now: the only one who gets to put that look on your face is me, Rogers, you got that?” Tony says as he gets up from the table, presumably to raid the IT department and send Schmidt and Zola into the pits of academic Hell.

“Tony, don’t. They’re not worth it.” Steve says as another paper wasp hits him in the back of the neck. He twists in his seat again and glares at the snickering brothers.

“I’m serious, Tasha, come on. You’ve got to at least have a hair elastic or something. Pepper? Thor?” Bucky asks.

“Bucky let it go. This is what they want.” Steve says.

“So why do we not give it to them?” Thor bellows as he stands so suddenly from the table that his chair tips backwards.

“Thor, please sit down, I am begging you.” Steve says in a hushed whisper as he glimpses over his shoulder to see Jay and Zola pointing at Thor with muffled laughter.

The next paper wasp either misses its intended target or Zola and Schmidt decided to shift gears, but the second Steve sees it clip the side of Bucky’s face he sees red and jumps from the table. He can hear his friends protesting behind him but he ignores them as he marches directly to Schmidt’s table.

“Well if it isn’t Captain Rogers!” Schmidt mocks as Steve approaches the table. “No back up today?”

“Don’t need it.” Steve all but growls before he lunges at Schmidt with flying fists. It’s certainly not his proudest moment, but he thinks he gets in a few decent punches before Schmidt tosses him to the ground and goes to town throwing haymakers at Steve’s face. He’s able to squirm out of the way of a few hits, but the ones that do connect leave his head spinning.

Steve sees the other boys at Schmidt’s table move to get in on the action, but before they can get there there’s a flash of green and two kids—Blonsky and Samuel Sterns—are lying on the ground and Bruce is standing there, swinging his massive backpack like a madman. Schmidt’s body is yanked away from Steve’s and he looks up to see Thor holding Jay by the back of his collar so that Bucky can crack him across the face. Natasha’s somehow managed to find herself perched on Pierce’s shoulders and she’s crushing his head between her thighs while Clint jabs at his stomach with quick, precise blows. Tony’s got Stane in a choke hold and doesn’t look like he’s thinking of relenting any time soon until a very loud, very angry voice makes everyone freeze where they are.

“Enough!” Mr. Fury’s voice rings through the cafeteria. His one good eye is radiating nothing but wrath and if looks could kill this entire cafeteria would be dead. “Stark, Odinson, Romanoff, Barton, Banner, Rogers, and Barnes,” he says clearly, venomously, “In my office, now.” He orders before turning on his heel and storming from the room.

They’re brought into Fury’s office one by one. Steve watches as each of them leave Fury’s office holding a bright yellow slip of paper that demands that they show up to two weeks’ worth of detentions. When Bruce gets called into Fury’s office it leaves Steve and Bucky alone as they wait in the uncomfortable chairs outside of Fury’s office.

“Why’d you have to go and hit him, Steve?” Bucky asks. Steve knows he’s been waiting for them to be alone to ask.

“He hit you first, Buck.” Steve says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “He hit you, too. You don’t see me throwin’ punches.”

“You broke Schmidt’s nose. I saw you do it.”

“Yeah, well. It don’t matter. You don’t need to protect me, Stevie.”

“’Course I do.” Steve says with a bloody smile. “I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.”

Bucky smiles softly and shakes his head. “Using my own words against me? That’s low, Rogers. Even for a little punk like you.”

“I learn from the best.” Steve says with a smile.

“BARNES!” Fury hollers from within his office. 

“Wish me luck.” He whispers, but the devilish glint that Bucky’s got in his eye leaves Steve wondering if Fury’s not the one in need of luck.


	3. S.H.I.E.L.D. High School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well baby I surrender  
> To the strawberry ice cream  
> Never ever end of all this love  
> Well I didn't mean to do it  
> But there's no escaping your love
> 
> _Accidentally in Love_ // Counting Crows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [spongebob announcer voice] ONE ETERNITY LATER
> 
> Well after rewriting this about three times, I can say that this is the version I'm most happy with. I'm not 100% happy with it, but what the hell. It's been forever and a day. I also said this would be 7,000 words. Right. Jokes.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys this! It's a big ol' mess of everything literally I just went to town I have so much shame to deal with. Oh boy.
> 
> ANYWAY I hope everyone's excited to see what's coming for the kids in college. Also Sam Wilson. That is all.
> 
> ANY MISTAKES ARE MY OWN AND YOUR KUDOS, COMMENTS, AND FEEDBACK ARE SO APPRECIATED AND WELCOME OKAY.
> 
> ENJOY.

***

FRESHMAN

***

He’s ten minutes into his required Freshman Health and Wellness class and his face may not be in the dirt, but he sort of wishes it was just so Tony would quit making fun of the way his cheeks flush every time the teacher says “ _sexual intercourse_.”

Steve had woken up this morning with butterflies stirring in his stomach. He didn’t even feel groggy despite the fact that Bucky had kept him up until two in the morning with his usual mumbled nonsense. Bucky wasn’t nearly as chipper, and Steve had spent the morning kicking at the air mattress in an attempt to rouse the Bucky-shaped lump on the bed from hibernation. In the end, Bucky only responded to the promise of chocolate chip pancakes which Steve made for him before ushering his best friend out the front door without giving him time to fix his disastrous bedhead.

They’d walked side by side just as they’d done for the past two years. On the way, Clint and Natasha whizzed by them on longboards and a few minutes later Tony made it a point to hang out of his Cadillac’s sunroof and heckle them as he went by. 

Thor had nearly killed Steve as they walked across the student parking lot. Bucky had cussed up a storm and thrown an arm across Steve’s chest, pulling him behind his body as Thor swung into a parking spot, missing them by inches. The boy had emerged from his side of the car looking sheepish, and from the other side of the car Steve could hear Loki calling him an “incompetent oaf.”

Thor made it up to them by showing them to their first period classes. Being a year older, Thor had a pretty good grasp on the school and told them which bathrooms were reliable, which water bubblers actually provided cold water, and which hallways to avoid if they didn’t want to get stuffed in a locker. Steve paid extra attention to that particular lesson.

And that’s how he ended up here, sitting next to Tony Stark in a Health and Wellness course, staring at intricate diagrams of genitalia and trying to fight the rising blush on his neck. He’s perfectly aware that this is all scientific and nothing to be embarrassed about—but he hasn’t even had his first kiss yet, never mind anything even remotely close to “sexual intercourse”. Hell, he still has to triple check that his door is locked before he nervously searches the internet for porn.

Tony, however, seems right at home in the class. He shakes the diagram of a penis they’ve been given in the air and announces that, “If a student is packing more heat than what these diagrams are showing, they should be given a sheet that’s a little more anatomically accurate for their bodies! I’m not saying that I am that student, per se, but I’m also not saying that I’m _not_ that student.” He concludes, shooting a wink at Pepper from across the room that makes her, Steve, and their teacher all roll their eyes in unison.

“You’re sick, you know that?” Steve says after Tony finally relents and slams his diagram to the desk. “Coming on to her from across a classroom isn’t gonna do you any favors.”

For a moment Tony’s façade cracks and Steve almost thinks he catches a glimmer of vulnerability, but the moment is over before he can be sure.

“You wouldn’t know how to get someone’s attention if you were draped in flashing lights.” Tony fires back. Steve would sooner die than admit it, but he knows Tony’s probably right. “’Sides, I’ve got it on good authority that Salt Pans over there has the hots for some enigmatic genius she’s known for forever.” Tony adds with a wicked smile.

“Yeah, and who’s authority is that?” Steve asks as he picks up a colored pencil and begins coloring in the diagram that makes him blush.

“Natasha’s, and you know girls—well actually, no you don’t, so let me fill you in: They tell each other _everything._ ” Tony explains as he, too, begins coloring.

Steve’s quick to remind Tony that this is the same Natasha that convinced Tony that her name was ‘Natalie Rushman’ for 6 years. Tony’s pencil pauses on the page and his dark eyebrows knit together for a moment before he scoffs and resumes coloring.

Steve finds the relationship (or the lack thereof) between Pepper and Tony almost as ironic as it is hilarious: that two people can be meant for each other, be the better half of one another, and have no clue.

How can anyone miss anything as obvious as that?

Tony eventually snaps out of his reverie and is back to his usual self just in time for the bell to ring and for Steve to bolt out of the classroom with Tony hot on his heels, worksheets in his hand, calling, “Steve, you forgot your dick diagram! Come grab your dick, Steve! Steve, come on, come take this dick!”

***

It becomes apparent to Steve right around baseball season that perhaps Tony’s not the only one who’s been oblivious for years.

As winter melts into spring, the S.H.I.E.L.D. High Spring Sports Bulletin begins overflowing with multicolored sign-up sheets for nearly every sport under the sun. Bucky begs Steve to sign up for baseball with him, but Steve is adamant in his refusal. He’s still trying to recover from the time Mr. Phillips had laughed in his face when he stepped up to bat during gym class.

“ _God damn, Rogers! That bat’s bigger than you are, kid!_ ”

Bucky plays every card in the book to get Steve to change his mind, but in the end Bucky and Clint’s names are the only ones that end up on the list.

Steve spends the next month walking home with Natasha, or rather, he walks while she longboards. After making the team, practice keeps Clint and Bucky tied up at the school until nearly 5 o’clock, so Steve had walked home alone for the first week, but the following Monday his usually peaceful walk was interrupted by the soft sound of wheels rolling across pavement. He’d turned to see Natasha slowly gliding along next to him with a soft smile on her face. 

It’s become a routine ever since.

“When are you gonna tell him?” Natasha asks out of the blue one day as she leans lazily into a turn. She’s not wearing a helmet. Steve’s been telling her to wear a helmet…

“Tell who what?” Steve asks, a little snippy because _seriously_ , if she falls and cracks her head on the pavement on his watch, Clint will come after him with a bat. And from what he hears from Bucky, Clint with a bat is a frightening thing.

“Bucky. About your feelings for him.” Natasha says casually.

Steve’s steps slow down until they come to a halt on the corner of School Street. Natasha rolls to a stop beside him and has an infuriatingly smug smile on her face, which is unnerving, because as far as Steve knows there’s nothing to be smug about. “My feelings for him?” Steve repeats skeptically as his face twists in confusion.

Natasha nods and continues to kick-push, kick-push down the street with Steve trotting hopelessly at her side. Eventually she’s going too fast for him to keep up and Steve has to trot to a halt and hunch over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath. He watches her go, but not before yelling, “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, MY FEELINGS?” just to see if he’ll get a straight answer.

He can hear her laughing.

As opening day draws closer, S.H.I.E.L.D. High begins buzzing with excitement. Navy and silver streamers hang in the halls and the players are treated like heroes as they stroll from class to class. Usually Steve’s able to see Bucky on his way from history to physics, but now whenever he passes by Bucky has to crane over the heads of his doting admirers—all female—just to tell Steve he’ll see him at lunch.

But Bucky and Clint don’t even eat lunch with them anymore. Clint usually stops by the table on his way to eat with the team and drops his chocolate pudding cup on Natasha’s tray before meandering to the other side of the cafeteria. Bucky always sits down next to Steve initially, ignoring the calls from his teammates until a pretty girl (there’s a different one every day, it seems) scoops him up and pulls him towards the table. He always looks back to Steve with pleading eyes, but allows himself to be dragged away anyway. Steve watches him go and tries his best to keep his features schooled to indifference. 

The day before the big game, Steve’s anticipating the sound of wheels on the pavement. What he’s not anticipating is the sound of two longboards rolling up on either side of him. He looks from his left to his right and sees Natasha and Clint flanking him on both sides.

“What are you—.”

“Coach Phillips gave the team the day off!” Clint says. “He doesn’t want to see a bunch of slouches on the field tomorrow, so he wants us to get our rest tonight.” 

Steve’s eyebrows draw together. “So where’s—.”

“Some girl grabbed him and begged him to take her for ice cream. Cute little blonde thing with these big ol’ blue eyes. Barnes didn’t stand a chance.” Clint says. 

“Barnes sure does have a type, doesn’t he?” Natasha says with a laugh, but beyond the laughter her tone seems a little forced. Like she’s trying to get Steve to understand something…

Steve decides to let it go.

He forgets all about Clint and Natasha’s missed messages in favor of homework, dinner, and eventually the droning sound of the late night talk show that he leaves running as he nods off to sleep. Just when he thinks he’s down for the count he hears a soft rapping on his window and sits up to see Bucky waiting on the other side, standing on the fire escape looking antsy. Steve lets him in and Bucky tumbles over the window pane and makes a dull thud on the floor.

“What the Hell do you think you’re doing, Buck?” Steve hisses after he’s sure that his mother and father haven’t woken up.

Bucky looks up at him through the semi-darkness but he won’t meet Steve’s eyes. “I gotta tell you something…” 

Steve waits patiently for him to continue. 

“I almost kissed a girl today.” Bucky mumbles. 

“And?”

“I chickened out ‘cause I don’t know how.”

Steve tries so hard to keep a straight face, he really, truly does. But even his iron will breaks under the pitiful look on Bucky’s face and pretty soon he’s got to bite down on his hand to keep from making any noise.

“What do you mean, ‘You don’t know how’?” Steve gasps once he’s got his breath back. “You’ve got a girl on your arm every other day; I figured you’d be a pro by now.”

Bucky’s downright scowling now. “Well I’m not!” He hisses. 

Steve wipes a joyful tear from his eyes. “So what are you here for?”

Bucky’s scowl slips off his face and he looks downright petrified all over again. “I need to ask you a favor.”

“I’ve heard that plenty of times.” Steve says skeptically as he climbs back into bed, sitting cross-legged at the edge so he can still see Bucky in the dim light from his TV. “What do you need, Bucky?”

Bucky worries his bottom lip between his teeth for a minute, and Steve gets so caught up in watching him do it that he almost misses the words that fall from the mouth he’s staring at. “You gotta let me kiss you.” Bucky blurts.

“I gotta do what, now?”

“You gotta let me kiss you. You’d tell me if I was awful, wouldn’t you?” Bucky asks, getting up from the floor and coming to sit beside Steve on the bed.

Steve’s mind is offline right now. In fact, his brain may have actually short circuited and blown up because he can’t, for the life of him, imagine why his brain would ever command his head to nod up and down otherwise.

Bucky’s watching him intently. “This won’t make things weird, right? Since it’s practice?”

Steve shakes his head slowly, letting his eyes drop to Bucky’s lips. “Won’t be weird at all.” He mumbles.

Bucky nods and stares resolutely at Steve’s mouth and without much warning Bucky leans forward and presses their lips together. It’s just pressure with no technique and no fineness and not even any tongue but Steve’s still convinced that this is the end all be all of kisses.

Bucky pulls away just as quickly as he’d swooped in. “Was that alright?” He asks nervously.

“Felt alright to me.” Steve says softly, his eyes already drifting towards Bucky’s lips again.

Bucky nods slowly, and then his eyes shift and it’s like he’s coming out of a trance. “Now we’ll know what to do when girls start lining up for kisses from us!” He says brightly as he slips from Steve’s bed and begins wrestling with the blankets on the blow up mattress.

“Yeah, right.” Steve says in a daze. He’s still staring at the empty space where Bucky had just been. 

It isn’t until Bucky is fast asleep and snoring softly that Steve realizes what it is that Natasha has been talking about all along. He sits bolt upright in bed as the floodgates open and a sickening combination of warmth and dread fill his chest at once.

He’s falling in love with his best friend.

***

It’s one o’clock the next afternoon and Steve still can’t look at Bucky without feeling like he’s drowning.

The spring sun beats down on the baseball diamond and Steve watches Bucky take practice swings as he waits to get up to bat. It’s the bottom of the ninth inning, The Avengers are down by one and there’s already one out. Clint hovers on second base after hitting a double that had Natasha cheering in rapid-fire Russian.

Steve hasn’t told Natasha about his revelation yet, but he gets the feeling he doesn’t have to. She’s been watching Steve with a careful eye throughout the game. “You’re transparent, Rogers.” She’d told him while he watched Bucky’s athletic body drop into stretches. Steve had scoffed at her and immediately distracted himself from Bucky’s lunges by turning to Thor and asking what kind of sports they played back in Asgard.

But now Steve can’t take his eyes off of Bucky even if he’d wanted to. Gilmore Hodge just struck out, which means the fate of the game rests on Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky’s broad, nicely tanned, sturdy looking shoulders.

“COME ON, BARNES!” Tony cheers as he hops to his feet. He’s got the S.H.I.E.L.D. High eagle painted across his bare chest and Steve can hardly stand to look at him without getting second hand embarrassment. “BU-CKY! BU-CKY! BU-CKY!” He chants, inspiring the crowd to do the same.

Steve holds his breath and watches Bucky wind up and swing. He connects with the pitch and sends the ball flying over the fence.

It’s the game winning home run.

Steve thinks he might actually blow a lung, he cheers so loud. Clint rounds third base and heads for home just as Bucky trots around first base. Steve’s never seen Bucky look so happy as he watches the crowd chant his name, falling over themselves to rush the field and wait for him at home plate.

“Come, Steve! We must congratulate our friends on their victory!” Thor bellows and lifts Steve up over his shoulder. He joins the stampede of fans on the field and barrels right over the people who aren’t smart enough to get out of the way. It takes Steve a second to notice that Natasha’s been thrown over Thor’s other shoulder as well, and the two share commiserating glances as they’re jostled about in Thor’s arms.

Their bumpy ride is worth it, though, when Thor sets them down right in front of home plate. Clint runs straight into Natasha and lifts her into a spin before hauling her in for a hug. Coming in a moment later is Bucky, who’s hollering for Clint to move his ass so he can touch home plate. Clint shuffles aside and Bucky stomps triumphantly on the white plastic beneath his feet before grabbing Steve and hauling him in for a hug.

“Holy shit, Steve, can you believe this?” He screams over the sound of the crowd. “Can you fucking believe this?”

Steve claps Bucky hard on the back and tries very, very, very hard to ignore the way it feels to have Bucky’s sweaty arms holding him flush against his body.

No, Steve thinks, he can’t believe it at all.

***

“So anyway, I’m out there sweatin’ my balls off—.”

“Bucky…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. _Language_. So like I was saying, I’m out there sweating my sack off.” Steve rolls his eyes, but lets Bucky continue. “Coach Phillips had us running drills for four hours today all ‘cause Gilmore Hodge decided to be a dick and—.”

“Buck!”

“Fine, Hodge decided to be a _jerk_ and mouth off at Phillips like he owns the field.” He hears Bucky’s bedsprings creak and Steve can picture Bucky throwing himself dramatically into bed as if the world rests on his shoulders.

“Life’s tough, ain’t it pal?”

“I can feel your sympathy all the way from here.” Bucky replies. “I’m gonna try to squeeze in a nap before my date tonight. I’ll call you after, alright?” He adds.

Steve gives Bucky the “Mhm,” and hangs up. This is Bucky’s third date this week and it’s only Thursday. Pretty soon there won’t be a girl in the whole school that Bucky hasn’t dated and he’ll have to move on to other schools.

Steve’s been doing his best not to make a fuss about Bucky’s new habits. It comes with the territory, he convinces himself. This is a part of their life now. Bucky takes pretty girls out for the night of their lives and Steve, well…

Steve’s learning that growing up is hard, and that growing up and realizing you’re in love with your best friend is even harder.

Steve sighs heavily and grabs a pillow to press over his face. He mulls over the conversation he and Bucky just had and puts up a valiant effort not to picture Bucky sweat-drenched in the spring sun, running drills until his breathing is ragged and his hair sticks to his face…

Steve pulls the pillow from his face and whines high in his throat as a coiling warmth settles in his gut. The first time this happened Steve had felt so guilty he didn’t look Bucky in the eye for a few days. He still feels bad about it sometimes, but he’s come to the pitiful conclusion that try as he might, every fantasy he gets off to always ends in calloused hands clutching his hips and a filthy mouth promising filthy things in a familiar voice. It’s always Bucky, every time.

Steve decides that he won’t even kid himself this time as he gets up and locks his bedroom door. His parents are both at work, but Steve’s nothing if not precautious. Wouldn’t do well to have his dad come home from the station early and find his son jacking off with his best friend’s name on his lips.

Steve rids himself of his shirt as he crosses the room. He slips into bed and unbuttons his jeans, pushing both them and his boxers down to his knees. His eyes flutter shut as his hands skate across his slight torso. He’s thinking of sweaty, sun-kissed skin that stretches on for miles and is always warm to the touch. He tips his head back and pictures all that skin on display just for him—not the revolving flock of girls that hang off Bucky’s every word, no. Just for him. 

Steve pictures Bucky crawling over him and he pretends that Bucky’s hands are running over his chest, teasing at his nipples before dropping down the flat planes of his stomach. His hands shake with uncertainty, but he figures Bucky’s might, too. In the perfect world, Bucky would be just as inexperienced as Steve, and together they’d figure it out.

In a perfect world, Bucky would also be the one wrapping his hand around Steve’s cock. But it’s not a perfect world. So Steve does it himself with Bucky’s rough hands in mind. Steve bites his bottom lip and whimpers as his blood rushes south and thickens his cock. He thinks Bucky would run his mouth like always, coaxing Steve into hardness with teasing smiles and whispers of “C’mon, Steve,” that burn hot against his slick mouth. 

Steve exhales sharply through his nose and runs his hand over the slick come pearling at the tip of his cock before using it to ease the motions of his hand. He whines high in his throat to the image of mischievous blue eyes raking over every inch of his skin and of red, red lips swollen and slick from kisses that quirk into a smirk as Bucky watches Steve begin to tremble on the mattress. His breathing quickens with his hand and it’s an embarrassingly short time until he’s gasping for air in the best way possible.

“You feel good, Stevie?” He imagines Bucky’s voice in his ear. Steve twists his hand around the head of his cock and his back arches off the mattress, into where he’d imagine Bucky’s body would be: hot, and welcoming, and Steve’s to cling to as he rides out his orgasm. He comes on his hand with a cry of Bucky’s name that escapes from between his bitten lips.

He thinks that Bucky would drop delicate kisses on Steve’s exposed neck, but after Steve tells him to quit fucking around he’d be harsher, leaving bright red marks on Steve’s soft skin. He’d let him down easy, tell Steve how good he’d been, how fuckin’ pretty he was, because Bucky knew nothing riled Steve up more than when Tony would call him a “pretty-boy”. But with Bucky, Steve doesn’t think he’d mind. Bucky could call him anything under the sun and Steve would answer to it.

He wonders if there’s a special place in hell for kids who get off thinking about their best friends without their permission to do so. If there was, Steve was probably well on his way to the throne.

***

Steve’s dad passes away in mid-June, not long after school lets out for the summer. Shot in the chest while on the job. Through and through. There’s nothing anyone can do.

That doesn’t make it any easier.

Steve knows what happened the moment he opens the door to see his father’s partner standing in their doorway. He asks to speak with Steve’s mother, “There’s something I need to tell her…” he says.

Steve listens to their conversation through his bedroom door. He hears about the shoot-out, the ambulance ride, and how his father’s last words were Steve and his mother’s names…

Steve crawls to his bed, reaches up and feels for his phone. He knows he shouldn’t call him. He’s on a date. He won’t want to be bothered with this. But, still…

“Bucky…” Steve whimpers into the phone when he picks up. “Bucky, it’s my dad… Oh my God, Buck… My Dad!”

Bucky nearly broke down his bedroom door less than fifteen minutes later.

Clint and Natasha show up at Steve’s apartment together to offer condolences. Tony sends a bouquet of flowers to Steve’s mother and a box of cupcakes to Steve, each with a card attached that says, ‘ _Love from Pepper + Tony_ ’ in Pepper’s precise script. Thor calls him and expresses his sympathies, telling Steve that his own father has been in a coma since Thor started seventh grade and hasn’t made any progress. Bruce sends him all kinds of teas and incense and texts him to inform him that they’re proven to relieve stress and tension.

Bucky never leaves the apartment.

At the funeral Bucky helps carry his father’s casket. He lingers at the cemetery with Steve and his mother long after the service ends and the guests clear out. Bucky tells a few stories that make Steve and his mother laugh, and the gaping hole in Steve’s chest doesn’t feels quite as massive. As they talk, the clouds overhead open up and the sun beats down on their backs and Steve thinks that maybe it’s his father letting them know everything will be alright. That they can all move on.

***

SOPHOMORE

***

Sophomore year starts the same way nearly every other year has: with Bucky angrily swiping Steve’s alarm clock off the nightstand and burrowing back under the covers where time doesn’t exist and neither does school. Steve throws his pillow at the lump he assumes is Bucky’s head and earns himself a hostile growl.

Some things never change, Steve decides. Like how Clint and Natasha still fly by on their longboards while Bucky and Steve walk to school, or how Tony still heckles them as he rides by, or how Loki can still be heard calling Thor an idiot as the pair skid into a parking spot.

Some things, however, change a whole Hell of a lot.

It starts the day that Steve finds himself, Bucky, and Clint all standing in front of the sports sign up bulletin for this year’s season. Clint and Bucky are already scribbling their names on the baseball sheet while Steve looks over his other options. There’s golf…maybe swimming…

“Come on, Steve, just sign up for ‘ball with us! It’ll be fun!” Bucky pleads, and usually Steve’s susceptive to that sort of thing, but this time Bucky’s pleas fall on deaf ears.

“I’m not gonna sign up just so I can sit on a bench, Bucky!” Steve bursts. “I can play just as good as any of you can, but no one’s gonna give me the time of day when I look like this!” He cries, gesturing to his small frame.

Bucky’s gearing up for a comeback, but Clint claps him on the shoulder and pulls him away before he can get there. Steve turns back to the board and is seriously debating just signing up for golf and calling it a day when someone comes up beside him.

“You ever consider football, Steven?” He asks with a thick German accent. Steve looks over and recognizes Coach Erskine, the football coach. Which explains why he’s asking Steve about football, but doesn’t answer the question of ‘ _Why him?_ ’ 

“With all due respect, sir, I don’t think I’m the football type.” Steve says with a hint of bitterness.

Erskine hums thoughtfully. “I think you are, Steven.”

Steve shakes his head. “Coach, look at me, I’m not football material…”

Erskine fixes Steve with a hard stare that shuts him up immediately. “I am looking at you.” He says simply. “And I see a loyal young man with a lot of heart who I’d love to have on my team.”

Steve’s mouth snaps shut and he nods slowly before asking, “What have you got in mind?”

Erskine smiles softly, “Well, you’ll have to go through some heavy training. Your days will be yours for school and all the work that comes with it, but your nights will belong to me and my training.” He explains. “You may not be ready for this season, but perhaps by your junior year you’ll be ready…”

“Ready for what?” Steve asks.

Erskine’s smile grows. “To be my starting quarterback.”

Steve gapes at Erskine. “Starting quarterback?” He repeats breathlessly.

Erskine nods sagely before nodding to the football sign-up sheet tacked to the bulletin board. “The choice is yours, Steven. I hope to see you soon.” He says before walking away.

Steve stares at the board for five whole minutes before he finally decides to bite the bullet and sign his name underneath ‘Thor Odinson’ and ‘Nate Rushman’.

“THE HELL DO YOU MEAN, ‘ _I SIGNED UP FOR FOOTBALL_ ’!” Bucky cries at lunch the next day when Steve breaks the news to his friends. “Sure, baseball’s out of the question, but give you a sport where you’ll be in danger of getting snapped in half and you’re all for it, huh?”

“Erskine said he’d train me.” Steve says simply, steadfastly ignoring the glare he knows he’s getting from Bucky.

“If I see so much as a scratch on you, so help me God, Steve, I’ll—.”

“I am delighted at this news, Steve!” Thor bellows, effectively drowning out the rest of Bucky’s threat. “It will be a true honor to play sport by your side!”

“Thank you, Thor.” Steve says earnestly. Thor’s the first one to express any enthusiasm over Steve’s decision. Tony had straight up laughed in his face, and the rest looked at him like he was a dead man walking.

“Hey, listen Rogers; I’m just as happy for you as the next guy.” Tony says, “All’s I’m saying is, when you get killed: be sure to leave me something nice in your will.”

***

Training, to put it simply, sucks. Not that Steve would ever say so out loud. The only positive that comes from it for a while is it’s now apparent that Steve’s outgrown his asthma. There’s no way he’d be able to complete the grueling ten mile runs Erskine has him doing otherwise.

Not only does Erskine have him running ‘til his legs feel numb, but he’s been biking, lifting, and stretching until his entire body feels like it’s going to revolt.

But he won’t give up.

Night after night throughout the entire school year, Steve reports to the weight room to be trained under Erskine’s watchful eye. After the first month, it becomes easier. Running doesn’t leave a burning feeling in his chest like it used to. He can bike for miles without his legs cramping. He can bench press half of his body weight without worrying that his arms are going to snap.

And then, after years and years of waiting and wishing, puberty finally blesses Steve with the growth spurt he’s been praying for ever since he realized he was abnormal for his age group. He shoots up a whole seven inches between September and June. Tony accuses him of using steroids, while Thor adamantly believes that Steve’s been using magic which—Steve tries _so hard_ to pretend that Thor’s not weird, he _really_ does. 

Bucky doesn’t know what to make of him. It seems like he’s been denying it’s happening until finally Steve outgrows him by a couple of inches and he can’t deny it anymore. “I thought you were smaller. I swear, just yesterday you were smaller…” He always says. 

To his genuine surprise, Coach Erskine is not always the one who trains him. One day he walks into the weight room to find Peggy Carter holding the clipboard that Erskine usually takes notes on.

“Captain Rogers!” She welcomes him every time before putting him to work on the treadmill. She watches him carefully, knowing full well that although Steve may be making progress, he’s still at risk of injury. She still remembers the scrawny boy from sixth grade who’d put paste in Zola’s sandwich because he ruined her painting, and so does Steve.

On the last day of school—and subsequently the last day of training—Erskine claps Steve on the back after he successfully bench presses his own weight, which has shot up to a staggering 182 pounds, a far cry from the 105 pound wisp he’d been nine months ago.

“Steven,” Erskine says as Steve towels off his face, “what might you say if I asked you to be a Captain?”

Steve smiles and can hear the boyish voices on the playground echoing through his memories, crying ‘ _Captain! Captain!_ ’. “I would say it wouldn’t be my first time, sir.”

Erskine radiates pride.

***

On his 17th birthday, Steve’s mother takes him down town to get something out of their storage unit. She won’t give him a straight answer about what it is they’re looking for, but instead offers cryptic answers like, “You’ll see!” and “Trust me, you’ll love it, Steven!”

Steve keeps Bucky updated the whole way there. Bucky’s just as curious as Steve is, and he’s got over twenty unanswered text messages sitting in his inbox to prove it. Bucky’s been offering his opinions on what the surprise is all day.

 **BUCKY:** Maybe you have a long-lost brother.  
 **BUCKY:** Maybe she’s selling you on the black market.  
 **BUCKY:** THINK ABOUT IT: TIME MACHINE.  
 **BUCKY:** Dead body?  
 **BUCKY:** If it’s a dead body, take a picture.

And those were just a few of his favorites. Steve laughs at every message until he finally puts an end to the madness.

 **STEVE:** Don’t you have date you should be paying attention to?

 **BUCKY:** You’re way more interesting. Believe me.

But the surprise isn’t a half-brother or a dead body or a time machine. It’s his father’s Harley Davidson.

“Mom…” He says breathlessly while his eyes scan over every elegant line, every gleaming inch of steel sitting on display in front of him. “Mom, you can’t be serious.”

“He’d have wanted you to have it.” She says with a watery smile. “You’ve just got to get your license and she’s all yours, does that sound fair to you?” Steve is still stupefied beyond words, so he just nods, which makes his mother laugh before she wipes stray tears from her eyes and continues. “Figure now you and Bucky won’t have to walk to school anymore. There’s room for two, you know.” She gets a wistful look in her eye. “Your father and I used to… When we were younger, we’d…” Her words die in her throat and she instead turns to Steve with a tight lipped smile. “I just mean that maybe now I won’t have to worry about you boys getting picked up by strangers, or stabbed, or anything else that’s gonna give me a heart attack.”

Steve laughs and pulls his mother in for a tight hug. “You’re right, a motorcycle’s much safer. ‘Specially where Bucky’s involved.”

His mother swats his back and wrestles out of his arms. “Don’t remind me; just promise me you’ll be safe.”

He promises her, but he can already tell it’s a hallow oath. He knows the second Bucky gets a load of this bike, he’ll be begging Steve to take it out on a high-speed joyride across the Brooklyn Bridge, and Steve could never deny Bucky anything.

***

JUNIOR

***

Steve never tells Bucky about the motorcycle. He lets the suspense build until the first day of junior year when he rolls it out of the shed behind his apartment complex. The look on Bucky’s face is priceless and completely worth the wait.

“You can’t be fucking serious.” Bucky says in awe.

“Oh, I’m serious.”

“How could you keep this from me? We’re supposed to be best friends, you punk!”

“Does this mean you don’t want a ride?” Steve asks, revving the engine far too obnoxiously for seven AM on a Wednesday morning. “Because by all means, Buck, feel free to walk.”

“Ha ha ha, scooch up, asshole.” Bucky says, gesturing for Steve to make room on the bike for him. “You know…” he muses while putting on the helmet that Steve _insists_ he wear, “you could probably get a lot of girls with this thing, looking the way you do now.”

Steve shakes his head as he clicks his own helmet into place. He waits for Bucky to get situated on the back of the bike before he revs the engine again. “Hold on to me, alright?”

“You got it, _Captain_.” Bucky says smugly before putting both hands on Steve’s hips beneath his jacket. “Go easy on me, alright? This is my first time. My jerk of a best friend never let me ride his motorcycle.” He says into Steve’s ear over the roar of the engine.

Steve smirks over his shoulder before peeling out of the driveway fast enough to make Bucky cuss and cling harder to Steve’s hips. For all his progress physically, Steve still bruises like a peach and can already tell he’s gonna have finger shaped marks in the wake of Bucky’s hands. It’s not quite the way Steve had pictured getting those bruises, but he’ll take what he can get.

Roaring past Natasha and Clint is strangely rewarding. Better yet is the look on Tony’s face when they pull up next to him and his fancy new sports car at a stoplight. Steve salutes him while Bucky flips him off, and the second the light turns green Steve jerks the throttle and tears off down the street. 

His proudest moment comes when he’s able to cut Thor off and steal the parking spot he’d been about to pull into. Thor immediately rolls down his window and curses Steve to Yodenheim and back, wherever the Hell that is, before reversing and driving off in search of another spot.

***

Three weeks into the year, Steve receives notice that he made the football team as The Avengers’ new starting quarterback.

Among the other players that make the cut are Thor (the kid’s arm span and height advantage made him an obvious choice for wide receiver), Nate Rushman (a lightning fast player with a small build practically made for playing running back), and Phil Coulson (the freshman center who would sooner let himself be crushed under the opponent’s defense then let them get to Steve after the snap.)

Their first game is coming up and Steve’s already as nervous as can be. He knows he’s got a lot to prove, no matter what crap Bucky gives him about not owing a damn thing to anybody. At the very least, Steve owes this to himself.

“Fret not, Steve!” Thor assures him as the last practice before the first game winds down. “You have proven yourself to your team and we follow your lead willingly!”

“Yeah!” Phil pipes in from the bench. “There’s no one I’d rather play for than you, Captain!” He continues cheerfully. On Phil’s right, Nate Rushman nods in agreement, which coming from him is practically a soliloquy. The guy hasn’t so much as sneezed in the weeks Steve’s known him.

Their support isn’t all Steve has, either. He comes home that night to find his mom at the dining room table hovering over a poster board with his name and number on it in bold, shimmering navy blue letters. She tries to hide it, screams about how it’s a surprise and he can’t see it yet, so for her sake he pretends he didn’t see anything and heads to his room.

That night he stares at the ceiling with apprehension and nerves buzzing through his body. He never should have signed up for this, he thinks. Erskine made a mistake. He made a critical mistake that’s going to cost him this entire season and—

The sound of his phone buzzing drags Steve out of his panic. He rolls over and sees Peggy Carter’s name on the screen. He answers.

“I could hear you overthinking all the way from here.” She says, not sparing Steve so much as a formal greeting. “You’d better cut it out, Captain.” She orders.

Steve chuckles into the receiver. “You’re not the one who’s gonna have a hundred eyes on them tomorrow.”

He can almost hear her roll her eyes as she replies with a long suffering sigh. “No, I’m not.” She admits, “But you were meant for more than living in the shadows, Steve.” She says with conviction. “You know it. I know it. Your friends know it.” She continues. “Now it’s just time to show the rest of the world.”

Steve smiles despite himself. “You think so?”

“Know so. Now get some sleep. Can’t have the Captain falling asleep on the field now, can we?” She says. Steve agrees and wishes her a goodnight before dropping his phone back onto his nightstand. 

He closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep, and for the first night in his life his dreams don’t revolve around boyish laughter and blue eyes, but instead feature red lipstick and a distinctive English accent.

***

The energy in the locker room is tense as players shuffle around in various states of dress. Steve himself has been sitting in his uniform for almost twenty minutes, staring pensively at the ground for just as long. He’s so lost in his own head that he doesn’t notice when Thor and Nate Rushman drop onto the bench on either side of him.

“You seem troubled, my friend.” Thor says, though the way he says it makes it sound like a question, like he’s looking for an explanation.

Steve just shrugs and makes a vague gesture with his hands. Vocalizing what he’s thinking has never been his strong suit, but he gives it a try anyway. “I just don’t want to let anybody down. I feel like everyone’s got this…this idea of what I’m supposed to be, and I’m afraid I’m never gonna measure up, you know? Like I’m not gonna be good enough.”

Thor hums his understanding and gives Steve an affirming pat on the shoulder. “I know the feeling of which you speak. As the promised King of Asgard, I used to find myself vying for the approval of others. I would drive myself to the brink of madness trying to become their idea of a king.”

Steve finally tears his eyes away from the spot on the floor he’s been glaring at. “So what’d you do?” He asks.

Thor smiles softly and jostles Steve playfully. “I said ‘Fuck it’, as I believe the expression goes. I’ve become the man I am proud to be, and when I return to Asgard, I will tell anyone would does not like it to engage in coitus with a bilgesnipe.”

“Bildgesnipe?” Steve repeats.

Thor looks surprised by Steve’s confusion. “Surely you have bilgesnipe in this realm?”

“Realm?” Steve echoes, getting more confused by the minute.

Thor suddenly looks panicked, like he’s said something he wasn’t supposed to. “Disregard it.” He says hurriedly, and Steve is quick to do so. Like he said, he’s been trying _really_ hard to forget that fact that Thor’s weird.

Instead, he turns to Nate Rushman and nudges his arm. “What about you? You got anything to prove today, Rushman?”

“You know I do.” He says in a familiar voice. A _really_ familiar voice. A really familiar _feminine_ voice, at that.

“Natasha?” He cries in surprise before her gloved hand reaches up and clamps over his mouth.

“Can it, Rogers. I haven’t been taping my tits up for four weeks just so you can go and blow my cover on game day. You know how much this shit hurts?” She hisses. 

Now that Steve’s this up close and personal with her, he’s kicking himself for not having noticed sooner. Even from behind the helmet and the thick protective grill, he can see her hard green eyes staring out at him. “What the Hell are you doing here?” He hisses as soon as she drops her hand. He whips around to face Thor. “Did you know about this?”

Thor nods like Steve just asked if he was aware that rain is wet. “I have played by her side for two years, now. It’s obvious, is it not?”

“Really, Rogers, I’m a little offended you didn’t catch on sooner.” Natasha drawls as she pulls her feet up on the bench and begins lacing her cleats. 

“That I didn’t catch on to the fact that there’s a girl on the boy’s football team?” Steve cries in as hushed a tone as possible given the current situation. “Well, _I’m_ a little offended that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me about this!” He continues. “God, Natasha. We share a locker room! You’ve seen me naked!”

Natasha rolls her eyes and fixes him with a stare. “First of all, it’s your own damn fault for not connecting ‘Nate Rushman’ with ‘Natalie Rushman’. Second of all, nowhere in the sports registrar does it specify that this is a ‘boy’s’ football team. And third, it’s not that I don’t trust you, you just never asked. And as for the whole ‘naked’ thing…” She says with a wicked gleam glinting in her eye, “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, Rogers. Bucky’s a lucky guy…”

Steve shoves Natasha none too gently off the bench, ignoring the snorts of laughter that come from the floor.

The Avengers take to the field at seven on the dot. The flood lights are blinding overhead as the team trots across the field to the cheers and applause of the fans. Steve keeps his head down initially, but Natasha runs up on him and swats him in the arm.

“Check out the front row,” she says, “What a bunch of losers.”

Steve looks to where she’s pointing and spots them without much difficulty. He chuckles at the idiotic, testosterone fueled display of Tony, Clint, Bruce, and Bucky all standing atop their section of the bleachers, swinging navy blue t-shirts over their heads while screaming themselves hoarse with the rest of the crowd. Steve notices with a burst of pride that while Tony’s chosen to don the S.H.I.E.L.D. High eagle on his chest once again, Bucky’s opted to paint ‘CAPTAIN ROGERS’ across his own in bold blue letters.

“Glad to see your boyfriend showing his support.” Natasha teases before taking off ahead of him, clearly anticipating the shove that’s coming for her. He doesn’t even have time to mention the fact that Clint’s got her number—13—painted across his torso as well.

The Avengers win the coin toss against the Ridge High Raptors and take the offensive first. Steve wishes they’d opted for defense, if only so he could have a few more minutes of internal panic before he has to march out onto the field.

“C’MON STEVE, FUCK ‘EM UP!” He hears Bucky scream over the sound of everyone else. He turns to look at him and Bucky shoots him two thumbs up.

“Quit flirting and call it, Cap.” Coulson says before dropping to the ground and preparing for the snap. Steve’s reminds himself to keep Phil as far from Natasha as possible in the future.

He crouches behind Coulson and calls the play in a voice that doesn’t betray just how nervous he is. As soon as he’s got the ball in his hands, it’s like the crowd isn’t there anymore. It’s just another practice where he hands the snap off to Nate (well, Natasha…) and stands back and watches as she darts through the defense, gaining a first down before she’s finally tackled.

The rest of the game is a breeze after the first play. The team works like a well-oiled machine under Steve’s orders, and he, Thor, and Natasha make an offensive dream team that can’t be stopped, leading to an impressive 49-3 win for the home team.

When the final seconds tick off the clock, the crowd erupts and drains the stands just as they’d done for the baseball team back in freshman year. Steve and Thor dump a jug of ice water over Erskine’s shoulders and dodge the flying ice cubes that their coach tosses as them in retaliation. Steve runs straight into Peggy Carter while ducking a particularly well aimed ice cube.

“Easy there, Captain!” She says. She puts her hands on Steve’s shoulders to steady him. “Quite a performance you gave out there.”

Steve blushes and ducks his head. “Ah, nah. It was nothin’.”

Peggy’s dainty finger lifts Steve’s chin until he’s facing her. “I think it was something.” She pauses and her red lips split into a dazzling smile. “I think _you’re_ something, Steve Rogers.” She continues quietly before leaning in and pressing her lips to his.

He hasn’t kissed anyone since Bucky’d practiced on him all those years ago, but he thinks he’s picked a few things up along the way. His hands wrap around her hips and he pulls her up until she can wrap her legs around his waist. The crowd surrounding them goes wild for it.

Their kiss is interrupted when a familiar voice rings clear above the crowd. “Let’s hear it for Captain Rogers!”

Steve pulls away from Peggy and turns to see Bucky leading a rowdy chant of “RO-GERS! RO-GERS!” that echoes around the field. Steve smiles so wide that he thinks his cheeks might crack, and Bucky smiles tightly in return. There’s something in Bucky’s eyes that doesn’t seem quite right, but before he can really look into it, Peggy’s red lips are back on his.

***

“Hey, Bucky. It’s me again. Your old pal Steve. Stevie. Steve-O. Stevie Nicks. Your best friend who’s been trying to reach you for a week. Feel free to stop being a jerk and call me back at any time, alright?”

Steve hangs up and throws his phone at his mattress before collapsing alongside it. Bucky’s been avoiding him for the past week and Steve’s rapidly approaching his breaking point. This all started when Steve had told Bucky that he and Peggy Carter were together, officially, boyfriend-and-girlfriend. Bucky’d gotten this tight look on his face and told Steve that he’d see him later and stormed off like Steve had killed a dog right before his eyes.

Steve had gone after him, but Bucky had told him to fuck off so loudly that several teachers poked their heads out of their classrooms to see what all of the fuss was about.

Steve was at a loss. He still is. He’s been racking his brains ever since that day, trying to figure out what he’d done to set Bucky off. So far, his theories are that A) Bucky’s been kidnapped and replaced by his ruder, grumpier, less-pleasant evil twin, B) Bucky’s bent out of shape because he’d tried hitting on Peggy once or twice in eighth grade and still isn’t over the rejection, or C) Bucky’s pissed that Steve has been shutting down his invitations for double dates for years, claiming he has no interest in dating, only to up and date the first girl who gives him the time of day.

Steve’s hoping for the evil twin. At least that means the real Bucky isn’t mad at him.

In the end, it isn’t Bucky, or Natasha, or even Tony who drops the truth on Steve. It’s Rebecca Barnes.

“He’s jealous, you idiot.” She says when Steve shows up at Bucky’s apartment looking for him. He’s on a date. Go figure.

“Jealous?” Steve repeats.

Rebecca rolls her eyes and inspects her freshly painted nails. “Glad your listening skills are in good shape.” She says dryly. She’s so much like Bucky it’s ridiculous. “Yes, Steve, he’s jealous.”

“Of me?” He asks.

Rebecca’s glare is so cold Steve thinks he gets frostbite just from being in its presence. “No, dumbass. Of her.” She says like its plain as day. “Of Patty, or whatever.”

“Peggy.” Steve corrects automatically. “Why would he be jealous of Peggy?”

Rebecca’s stare turns harder, if that’s at all possible. She doesn’t even dignify him with an answer before she scoffs and slams the door in his face. “Figure it out, Steve!” She calls from the other side of the door.

He bangs on the door again. “Why would he be jealous of Peggy?” He yells, knowing he won’t get an answer, but trying all the same. Cryptic women will be the death of him, mark his words.

“The fuck you yelling for?”

Steve spins on the spot and finds Bucky standing in the middle on the hallway. He recovers quickly and points to the door. “Rebecca slammed the door in my face.”

Bucky huffs out a laugh before his face relaxes into something more somber. “I’m sorry I’ve been so stupid, Stevie.”

“You should be.”

“I am, you punk. That’s why I’m saying it.” Bucky fires back.

“Yeah, well…” Steve’s lips quirk into a smile. “Ma’s making chicken tonight. Made enough for me and my best friend. Thing is, he’s been acting like a real jerk lately, but I guess I can forgive him and invite him over for dinner. If that’s something he’d be interested in…”

Bucky laughs and shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, well, I guess I could eat.”

***

It’s been a hard year ever since football ended and school work kicked in. The SAT’s nearly ended his life, but Steve managed a 2100 thanks to Tony and Bruce’s combined forces of tutoring (more like Bruce’s tutoring, Tony just made an army of paper swans while Steve and Bruce studied, but still had the audacity to get mad when his influence wasn’t mentioned in Steve’s success). His school work got harder, and more often than not Steve and Bucky could be found in Bucky’s room after school, beating their heads off their chemistry books and cursing the entire idea of covalent bonds.

But Prom has been a beacon of hope the entire year, and tonight it’s finally here. Under the swirling lights and head pounding music, Steve can easily forget that he’s barely scraping by in chemistry and that his math grade isn’t looking too hot either. Waiting back at Stark’s place is hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of alcohol that teenagers by no means should have access to, but Tony’s got the key to the liquor cabinet and fully intends on using it.

What’s not so easy to forget is the look on Pepper’s face when Steve catches her collapsing into a chair beside a linen-covered table. She rests her head on her arms and Steve watches her shoulders begin to shake.

Steve detaches himself from Peggy and wanders over to the seat beside Pepper. “You mind if I sit?”

Pepper slowly lifts her head and looks up at him through red-rimmed eyes. “Sure, Steve.” She says quickly, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Come on, sit.” She affirms, pulling the seat out for him.

He takes her offer and fixes her with a stare. “You gotta tell him.”

“That’s rich!” Pepper barks out with an empty laugh. “That’s real rich, coming from you.”

Steve winces. “Yeah, I know.” His shoulders slump and he turns his head enough to catch a glimpse of Bucky on the dance floor, wound so tightly around his date that he thinks they might be the same person. Nearby he can see Tony in a heavy make-out session with a random sophomore. Steve doesn’t know her name, and he doubts Tony does either.

“God, why do we do this, Steve?” Pepper cries, pounding her fist against the table. “Why do we do this to ourselves?”

Steve has no answers for her. He has no answers for himself. As much as he likes Peggy, lately he can feel it going downhill, due in no small part to the lingering torch that he’s caring around for his oblivious best friend.

“Are you ever gonna tell him?” She asks.

Steve’s lips twitch into the faintest smile. “Hell no.”

Pepper sighs and reaches out to hold his hand. “You’re an idiot, Steve. Don’t let anyone tell you any different.”

They sit in companionable silence for a few more songs until Pepper spots something in the crowd that makes her sit up in her seat. Her blue eyes narrow and zone in on the dance floor.

“What is it?”

“It’s Bucky.” She says, standing up slowly from her seat. “Something’s wrong, Steve…”

Steve jumps from his seat and follows her stare out onto the dance floor. He finds Bucky once again, but this time his date is standing off on her own while Bucky presses his cellphone tight against his ear and plugs the other one with a finger. He’s got pain written all over his face. Bucky’s eyes meet his from across the floor and Steve already knows what happened.

***

It’s a joint funeral. One ceremony. Two caskets. Two boys standing over fresh graves trying their best not to cry.

Bucky’s parents were driving home from dropping Rebecca off at a friend’s house when Schmidt—drunk out of his mind on his way to prom—had plowed into them and drove them into a tree. They were dead on impact. No one suffered.

Except their children.

It took time for them to heal, all of them. Steve couldn’t eat spaghetti anymore without feeling hallow. Bucky took up chain smoking as a means to relieve stress. Becca came home to Bucky and their almost empty apartment one night with broken knuckles claiming to have, “given the bastard what he deserved.”

Two days after Becca came home with broken knuckles, Schmidt arrived to his court hearing missing three teeth. Bucky high fived Rebecca in the middle of the courtroom.

Since the funeral, Peggy and Steve had broken off. Steve had explained that Bucky was his highest priority right now and Peggy, with no malice in her voice at all, had smiled softly and rubbed his cheek with her thumb before saying, “He always was.”

As far as break ups go, it was as good as Steve could have hoped for. After all, he’s watched Tony get slapped his fair share of times, and had anticipated getting the world famous Carter-Hook to the jaw.

The night before their senior year, Bucky and Steve lay in perfect silence, listening to the soundtrack of Brooklyn in the darkness. In the next room, Steve can hear Rebecca snoring away on the guest mattress. Steve thinks he knows what Bucky’s thinking. He’d felt the same way when his dad had died and never got to see him set foot on a football field.

He speaks for the first time all night. “They’ll be watching, Buck.”

The silence stretches on, but minutes later Bucky answers. “I know.”

***

SENIOR

***

He wakes up the next morning a senior. He also wakes up with a pillow hitting him repeatedly in the face.

“Steve, fuck, we overslept! Wake the fuck up!”

Steve rubs at his eyes and cracks them open to see Bucky standing over him. His bed head is atrocious and his shirt is half-on, half-off and he’s already winding up to whack Steve again.

So this is how senior year is gonna be.

He’s still trying to zip up his pants as he and Bucky tumble out the front door with Rebecca in tow. With only two seats on the bike, Steve’s not entirely sure how this is supposed to work out, and he’s about to ask who has the honor of running when a car peels down the street and screeches to a halt in front of Steve’s complex.

“That’s Jake!” Rebecca exclaims as she runs past them and heads for the car.

“Who the fuck’s Jake?” Bucky calls after her. Steve can practically feel Bucky shifting into over-protective brother mode.

“You ride with your boyfriend, I’ll ride with mine!” Rebecca calls over her shoulder.

Bucky’s face flushes beet red. “He’s not my boyfriend!”

“ _He’s not my boyfriend!_ ” Rebecca mimics in a whiny, albeit accurate, imitation of Bucky. She flips them both off and wishes them shitty days before yanking the car door open and slipping inside.

“She has a boyfriend?” Bucky whispers while watching the car burn rubber and take off down the street.

“Don’t be jealous, you’ve got one too, apparently.” Steve says with a smug smile.

Bucky laughs and punches him in the shoulder. “Like you could handle me.”

Steve mind immediately conjures up an image of him pressing Bucky into his mattress, pinning his wrists above his head and grinding his ass down on Bucky’s cock. Lately his brain’s been getting a bit more vivid, and while he doesn’t particularly mind it at night, right now it’s just inconvenient. He swallows thickly and smiles. “I think you’d be surprised.”

Bucky smirks and quirks a brow. “Yeah?”

Steve smiles and hops on his bike. Surely by now they’re cutting it even closer than before.

“Come on Steve, you can’t just say something like that and walk away! What the Hell do you mean, ‘I’d be surprised?’ You and Carter get up to something not-so-saintly that you forgot to mention to your old pal?” Bucky pushes after joining Steve on the back of the bike.

Steve starts the engine, effectively drowning out any more noise from Bucky. Truth be told, he and Peggy hadn’t really gone past heavy petting and horizontal tonsil hockey. Bucky’s got no room to talk, anyway. Just last month he’d gotten his v-card swiped at one of Tony’s ridiculous parties. Steve had watched as Bucky stumbled out of one of the many guest rooms in Stark’s house with a blonde under his arm, their clothes rumpled and their skin flushed.

Bucky had screamed it in Steve’s face before promptly bending over and puking on his shoes. Steve forgave him, though. Grief makes people do crazy things.

But Bucky isn’t so quick to let it go. The second Steve cuts the engine Bucky’s back on his case about the nature of he and Peggy’s relationship.

“Why do you care?” Steve asks.

Bucky’s jaw snaps shut mid-sentence. “I don’t!” He snaps when he’s recovered.

“Great. Then drop it.” Steve says.

And for now, Bucky does.

Two weeks later the topic resurfaces, but it’s not Bucky who brings it up, it’s Clint.

“You wanna tell me why I’ve got Barnes breathing down my neck about whether you and Carter fucked or not?” He asks during a particularly heated game of dodge ball.

Steve’s momentary lapse in concentration nearly gets him hit. “What?” He squeaks as he dodges a ball that Natasha hums at him from across the floor.

“Kid’s been up my ass since day one askin’ me if I knew what you two got up to.” Clint explains.

Steve shakes his head and returns Natasha’s favor, sending a ball aimed for her chest.

“I told him you fucked like rabbits. Shoulda seen his face, dude. Priceless.” Clint chuckles before picking up a ball and nailing Bruce in the face. “Oh, shit.” He says under his breath.

“Fuck you, Clint!” Bruce yells.

Steve shares the same feeling as Bruce, though he’d never be so crude as to vocalize it. “You said what?” He cries.

Clint raises his hands defensively. “Chill, Rogers, chill. It’s just a joke.” He says soothingly. “’Sides. It’s hardly my fault you two have been dancing around each other for four years.”

Steve splutters indignantly. “We have not!” He finally manages to choke out.

Clint ducks the ball that Bruce—who was tagged back in by Natasha—sends hurdling at his face. “Then why don’t you just ask him out?”

“HA! Why don’t you ask Natasha out, big guy?” Steve retorts. “You talk about dancing around someone; you two have been at it for six years now. You’re almost as bad as Pep and Tony.”

Clint fixes him with a stare before turning back to the other side of the gym. “HEY ‘TASHA!” He calls.

Natasha’s hip juts out in annoyance and she lifts an eyebrow expectantly.

Clint smiles regardless. “WANNA BE MY GIRLFRIEND?” He hollers.

The other students all laugh and heckle him, but Natasha’s glare softens the slightest bit, and the smile that breaks across her face doesn’t carry the same annoyance that the rest of her posture does. “Alright.” She relents.

Clint turns back to Steve with the smuggest of all smiles. “How was that?”

Steve gapes soundlessly. “You—you can’t just…” He stammers.

“Oh, you can just.” Clint interrupts. “And you will just.”

Natasha and Bruce capitalize on their distraction and beam them both in the head, one after the other. While Clint squawks about how that’s no way to treat a boyfriend, Steve actually begins to wonder just what it would be like if he and Bucky ever…

“Rogers, you’re back in!” Phil calls to him after he catches a dodge ball.

Steve supposes if he and Bucky have waited this long to get their acts together, it can wait ‘til the end of a dodge ball game.

***

Steve waits one hell of a lot longer than a dodge ball game. In fact, he waits ‘til the last month of senior year.

It’s hardly his fault. The last year of his high school career flew by so quickly that Steve actually started believing in the age old saying, “ _These four years will be the fastest four years of your life._ ” Hell, he’s already well on his way to the next four years after being accepted into Marvel University early on a football scholarship. He’s earned himself a full ride, all four years, to one of the best universities on the East Coast.

Bucky’s applied there too, but has yet to hear back from them. He’s been accepted to a couple of State schools in New York, all vying for his place on their baseball teams, but both he and Bucky are holding their breath for Marvel’s verdict.

Tony and Bruce are headed off to MIT next fall for technology and science degrees respectively. Clint and Natasha are both headed to UCLA, both hoping to end up in Homeland Security. Thor—who graduated a year before them and has been keeping in touch all the way from Asgard (location: still unknown) has officially become the royal king. Pepper’s headed to Columbia for business, but only because she refused to play third wheel to Tony and Bruce at MIT.

Which leaves Steve and Bucky, once again. 

Steve’s on the phone with Bucky ranting about how Clint and Tony gave him all of the complicated research for their year-end project so that they can screw around with the slide designs for their Power Point. Bucky’s been pretty good about making semi-interested sounds throughout his tirade, so when Steve hears nothing but silence on the other end of the line he has to check to make sure Bucky’s still there before asking why he’s so quiet.

Bucky’s silent for another moment before answering. “I just got the mail out of the box.” He says softly, like his mind’s a million miles away.

Steve laughs nervously, “What’s so weird about that? They got a warrant out for your arrest or something?”

“I got a letter from Marvel.” Bucky says.

Steve’s heart starts racing and now he gets why Bucky’s so quiet. This is it. This is the moment that dictates their future. Steve’s stomach is in knots and he’s not even the one with the letter in his hand. “Well geez, Buck. What are you waiting for? Open it!” Steve cries, not wanting to deal with not knowing for a moment longer.

Steve can hear the sound of tearing paper over the line and he thinks that his heart may have stopped beating. The silence on the other end of the call is deafening and Steve really wishes Bucky was a faster reader. Bucky should just be skim reading for words like, “Congratulations!” and “Welcome!”, but he knows that’s not how Bucky operates, so he waits patiently.

Or at least he tries. “What’s it say, Buck?”

“’M gonna call you back, alright?” Bucky mumbles. 

Steve’s heart seizes at the sound. Bucky sounds defeated. _He didn’t get in_ , Steve thinks. Bucky didn’t get into Marvel and Steve’s already committed which means for the first time in twelve years it won’t be ‘ _Bucky and Steve_ ’, it’ll be ‘ _Bucky_ ’ and ‘ _Steve_ ’. Separately. Steve wants to scream. He wants to cry. He wants to march into Marvel Admissions and tell everyone who will listen about all the great things Bucky’s done that his dumbass probably forgot to mention on his application.

Instead of doing any of that, he just nods and says, “Alright, I’ll be here, Buck,” and hangs up the phone with shaking hands.

Twelve years. Twelve years he’s known Bucky and he’d been planning on knowing him for at least four more, if not forever. Bucky was a ‘ _forever_ ’ in a world of ‘ _for nows_ ’ and ‘ _for a whiles_ ’. 

Steve knows exactly how it’s going to go down once he and Bucky go their separate ways. Bucky’s going to go off to another school where he’ll meet a thousand new people and make hundreds of new friends. And Steve’ll go to Marvel and he’ll work hard and put all of his energy into work because what’s the point of making friends if they’re never gonna compare to the boy who could talk his ear off about peas for upwards of an hour?

Of course they’ll talk and text and Skype, but then Bucky will be called away for a pick-up game of who-knows-what and then he’ll be gone until next time. But ‘next time’ will come few and far between until, eventually, Bucky forgets all about the boy he’d carried around like a burden for most of his life. Eventually Bucky will realize that he was better than Steve all along.

 _But Bucky was supposed to be a forever_ , a soft voice in Steve’s head says. He almost breaks down then and there, standing paralyzed in his bedroom with tears brimming in his eyes. He thinks they’re going to fall until a series of urgent bangs on his front door snaps him out of it. He paws at his eyes until they’re dry before leaving his room and answering the door.

He swings open the door and Bucky’s standing there beaming with his letter held proudly in front of him. Steve stares at it like it’s made of gold and even from a few feet away he can pick out the words, ‘Congratulations!’ and ‘Welcome!’

Bucky got in.

“I got in!” Bucky screams at the top of his lungs as if Steve hadn’t already figured it out. “Full fucking ride and everything! We’re goin’ to college, Stevie! It’s gonna be you and me! I ran here fast as I could because I had to tell you in person! Can you believe they let a slouch like me into Marvel, Stevie? Me! And you, Steve, we’re goin’ to Marvel!”

Bucky got in. Bucky’s not leaving him behind. Bucky’s here and he’s standing right in his doorway and he’s absolutely beaming with pride and his cheeks are flushed and his hair is sticking to his forehead because he’d just ran all the way from his apartment to Steve’s just to tell him the good news in person and—

And Steve kisses him. He’s such a jumble of emotions—relief, shock, joy—that this seems like the only sane response to finding out his best friend is coming to college with him. His mind is blank as he closes the distance between them in two careful steps. He puts both hands on the back of Bucky’s neck and he just goes for it. He kisses Bucky how he’s pictured it and how he’s dreamed it and still reality is a million times better than anything he came up with.

Steve couldn’t have imagined the shocked sound that Bucky makes against Steve’s lips when they kiss, and he definitely couldn’t have dreamed up just how soft and pliant Bucky’s lips are once he realizes what Steve is doing. Bucky’s arms reach up and wrap around Steve’s shoulders and Steve can feel the acceptance letter scraping against his back, reminding him that Bucky is still a ‘ _forever_ ’.

Even when his emotions settle and all he can feel is overwhelming joy, he still thinks that kissing Bucky is the best idea in the whole entire world. Kissing Bucky could cure cancer. Kissing Bucky could end world hunger. Kissing Bucky might even be able to fix the economy. It’s a Nobel Prize winning idea, and Steve’s real proud of himself for having thought of it.

The kiss is simple, nothing fancy. Steve hasn’t done nearly as much kissing as Bucky has, but he thinks he’s doing okay because every time he presses his lips urgently against Bucky’s he gets a hushed whimper in return. It sounds like relief. It sounds like years of hopeless pining finally coming to an end.

When Steve finally relents, he backs away and Bucky chases after him with chaste pecks before he begins chuckling softly, breathing soft puffs of air over Steve’s slick lips.

“What’s so funny? Is my kissing that bad?” Steve asks.

Bucky shakes his head gently, just barely brushing their noses together. “No, I was just thinking that if getting into college was what it took to get you to kiss me again, I’d’ve applied sooner.”

“Nah, Buck. It’s not that.” Steve says, peppering Bucky’s cheeks, lips, jaw with kisses. “You just sounded so upset on the phone; I thought you didn’t get in. I thought I was gonna lose you.”

Bucky looks up at Steve and smiles and Steve already knows what’s coming, but he still wants to hear him say it. “Yeah, right. You’re never gonna lose me, Steve.” Bucky says softly, nuzzling Steve’s face and getting so close that when he speaks, his lips brush against Steve’s. “‘Til the end of the line, remember?”

Steve kisses him like the end of the line will never come.

***

“I called this. I really did. People said I was crazy when I nominated you for ‘ _Should Have Been A Couple_ ’. They all said ‘ _Tony, no, they’re just really close!_ ’, ‘ _Tony, no, they’ve been best friends forever!_ ’ Well you know what I say? I say congratulations; you two idiots deserve each other. I’ll be sure to toss a couple of condoms in your graduation card.”

Steve doesn’t know what possessed him to tell Tony first. Maybe it’s because he hoped to nudge Tony in the right direction in regards to Pepper, or maybe it was a momentary stroke of insanity. Either way, the second Steve saw his spikey black head bobbing through the crowd; he wove his way through the flow of students and told Tony everything.

“Who said all that? About me and Bucky just being friends?” Steve asks.

“Stupid people.” Tony replies airily. “Stupid, stupid people who now owe me a rather large sum of money. Do me a favor and really ham it up with the PDA, alright? I need hard proof before I can cash in.”

Steve never agreed to what Stark said, but as usual luck was on Tony’s side because during lunch period Bucky sneaks up on Steve and wraps his arms around his waist from behind before dropping a kiss on his cheek.

While Steve fights his growing blush, Tony holds out his hand to Bruce and wiggles his fingers until Bruce sighs and drops a fifty dollar bill into his hand.

***

“How are you asking Barnes to prom?”

Tony surprises him as he’s straddling his bike. He hadn’t even seen Tony waiting in the driver’s seat of the car parked next to him. He’s looking at Steve over the top of his sunglasses and waiting for an answer.

“Haven’t really thought about it.” Steve answers honestly. “Why, what’s it to you?”

“I was hoping your answer would inspire me, but I can’t say that ‘Haven’t really thought about it’ gets my creative juices flowing.” Tony says dryly.

Steve settles onto the seat of his bike but doesn’t raise the kick stand just yet. He just fixes Tony with an analytical stare. “I thought you were gonna go stag? You do every other year.”

“Yeah, well.” Tony says flippantly. “Thought I might try something different this year.”

Steve smiles knowingly. “Thinking of _spicing_ things up a bit, Stark?”

Tony glares at him, and he knows he deserves it. It was an awful pun and if Bucky were here and not at baseball practice, he would have slapped Steve just for thinking of it.

“She’s important to me.” Tony says out of the blue. It feels like getting a bucket of ice water dumped on his back, seeing Tony vulnerable like this. “I don’t want to mess this up. I need to hold on to the one thing I can’t live without.” He swallows thickly. “And that’s her.”

Steve smiles softly. He knows the feeling. “She’s stuck with you for sixteen years, Stark. Don’t think you could mess that up if you tried.”

“Have we met?” Tony jokes, but Steve can see the way the tension is draining from Tony’s shoulders.

Tony ends up building an AI in Robotics Club. Quite frankly it’s an ugly little thing, but Tony assures everyone that it’s just a prototype. “I only had two weeks, cut me some slack!” He affectionately calls him JARVIS and sends him into Pepper’s first period class via remote control. The little bot rolls into the classroom with a bouquet of flowers and states, in a smart British voice, that “ _Tony Stark asks for your company to the prom, Miss. Potts._ ”

Natasha gets the whole thing on video. At lunch, Steve holds her phone between himself and Bucky and watches as Tony wanders nervously into the classroom, remote control in hand, and waves at Pepper from across the room. His favorite part is easily watching Pepper spring from her seat and run into Tony’s arms.

Steve’s not the only one who finds Stark’s prom-posal touching. Bucky’s eyes shine while he watches the video and he even compliments Stark on the idea, which is rare because Bucky usually thinks Stark’s ideas are garbage and should be ignored at all costs. 

It’s then that Steve realizes that he’s got to do something special, too.

***

It was Clint’s idea. That should have been the first red flag.

“ _Why don’t you write it on a sign and then hold it up at the game?_ ” He’d said. “ _It’ll be great!_ ” He’d said.

And Steve’s dumb ass had agreed with them. And that’s how they ended up here: with Steve hopping the short chain link fence that separates the fans from the players. 

Steve had held the sign up when the Avengers took to the field. Bucky was manning third base and looked away from the player at bat in order to read Steve’s sign as he held it high over his head. Natasha and Pepper laughed at the look on Bucky’s face, and Thor loudly proclaimed that it was “A marvelous display of affection!”, but then the batter at the plate made contact with the ball and it collided right into the side of Bucky’s unassuming face.

A great idea indeed, Clint.

So here Steve is, running across the field so he can make sure that his boyfriend isn’t dead on the grass. Clint’s running in from right field, and Steve can tell that he’s laughing, the bastard.

He drops to Bucky’s side as soon as he’s close enough and breathes a sigh of relief when Bucky turns toward him and groans. Groaning is good. It’s a sign of life. Steve hasn’t killed Bucky just yet.

“Bucky are you alright?” Steve asks breathlessly.

Bucky’s eyes are out of focus as he mumbles, “Yeah, yeah, yeah…”

“Yeah, yeah you’re okay?” Steve asks because he has to be sure that Bucky’s alright.

“No, no…” Bucky says thickly. “Yeah to Prom. Yeah to Prom, Steve. This?” He points to the angry red spot on the side of his face. “This is not okay. But Prom’s okay.” He mumbles before passing out.

Steve and Clint carry him off the field together, and Steve cusses Clint out the whole way. If Bucky could hear him, he’d be proud at the little potty mouth he’d made of Steve. But he can’t. Because Clint is a fucking asshole who comes up with the stupidest fucking ideas and as soon as Bucky’s in a safe place, Steve’s going to shove a baseball bat so far up Clint’s ass that it crushes his brain so that he can’t have another fucking idea for the rest of his fucking life. He tells Clint so in detail.

***

Senior Prom is infinitesimally better than its predecessor. For one, it isn’t held in the gym that will still smell like feet and sadness no matter how many balloons they shove in there, and also Steve’s there with Bucky, and Bucky looks so handsome that it’s a shame they didn’t just skip this whole thing all together and rent a hotel room and spend the night pressed against one another instead of pressing against each other and about a hundred other sweaty bodies on the dance floor.

“I want to do it tonight, Buck.” Steve decides as they sway back and forth to the quintessential slow jam.

“Get drunk?” Bucky asks incredulously. “You remember last time, don’t you pal?”

“No, Buck. I don’t want to get drunk. I’ve got something better in mind.” Steve said, leaving Bucky to piece together the rest.

They’d been talking about it for a while. While Bucky’s virginity may have sunken and taken the captain and its crew down with it, Steve’s is still sailing strong after eighteen years, and he really isn’t keen on waiting any longer. Steve’s been dropping hints here and there—condoms in Bucky’s locker, lube in his dresser drawer…it wasn’t subtle, but Bucky had always been pretty bad at taking hints. See the last four years of their lives, for example.

But Bucky’s Bucky, which means he’s the most bullheaded asshole that Steve’s had the displeasure of dating. He tells Steve that he wants it to be special, that he doesn’t want Steve to think he’s just another conquest, another girl he loved and left before her parents got home. Steve couldn’t care less. He wants Bucky in whatever way he can get him.

Bucky connects the dots and swallows thickly. “Tonight, Steve? You’re sure?”

“I was sure four years ago, you jerk.” Steve says with a smile. “I want to. Tonight.”

Bucky’s searching Steve’s face for any misgivings, but he’s not finding anything. “You want to lose your virginity in Stark’s house? You don’t think he’s gonna hold that over your head ‘til the day you die?”

Bucky raises a good point. The after party _will_ be hosted at Stark’s house, but Steve thinks that Tony owes him for giving him the extra push that landed him a date with Miss. ‘Most Likely to Succeed’. Steve laughs and shrugs. “Let him.”

Bucky watches him carefully for a few more moments. “Alright, you got me. Tonight.” He decides.

The song changes and the floor shakes with the renewed vibrations of the pounding bass. Bucky’s soft, content expression shifts into something distinctly wolf like and the hands around Steve’s hips drag him towards Bucky’s body until they’re pressed against one another.

“You sure you can handle me, Stevie?” Bucky drawls softly into his ear, barely audible over the sound of the music. His hands slide up Steve’s body and Steve swears he can feel a burning trail left in the wake of the movement.

Steve swallows hard and manages a weak laugh. “I think so.” His own hands rake down Bucky’s back and he takes pride in the way Bucky’s breath hitches and his hips twitch against Steve’s.

Bucky gets himself back under control and chuckles darkly before biting at Steve’s ear. “Can’t wait to take you apart, Stevie. Got all sorts of ideas about what I’d do to you.”

Steve was wrong. He’s still gonna need to keep a firm grip on his inhaler at all times if Bucky’s gonna use _that_ voice and _those_ words. But he can’t let Bucky know that, so he puts on his cockiest grin and rolls his hips into Bucky’s to the obnoxious beat of the music. “Care to share?”

Bucky’s fingers flex on his hips and his lips come to the shell of Steve’s ear. “You mean, do I care to tell you how I’m gonna get on my knees and suck your cock ‘til you’re beggin’ for it? Or how I’m gonna fuck you with my fingers ‘til you can’t say anything but my name, and how bad you want my dick? You want me to tell you about that, Stevie?”

Steve’s skin flushes from his cheeks to his chest, and he pulls his head far back enough that he can meet Bucky’s hazy, dark eyes. He bites his lower lip gently and nods quickly.

Bucky smirks and chuckles before nuzzling back into the space between Steve’s neck and shoulder. “Well, I’ve never been one to talk. I’m more of a practical demonstration kind of guy.”

Steve wants to laugh at that, because that’s just about the richest statement in the world. Bucky not being one to talk. Hilarious. Steve would tell him so if he weren’t suddenly being wrenched from the heat of Bucky’s body by a strong hand. Steve turns to look into the eyes— _eye_ of Principal Fury.

“Leave room for Jesus, Rogers.” Fury says seriously before releasing the collar of Steve’s shirt.

“Absolutely, sir.” Steve says.

Fury turns to leave, but even over the pounding music Steve thinks he can hear the man chuckle and say something like, “It’s about god damn time.”

***

Steve can hear Tony heckling them even as they stumble up the lavish staircase, tripping over one another in their haste to get upstairs.

“Use a condom! Be generous to one another! If you think you’re gonna come, think of Coach Phillips naked!”

“Shut the fuck up, Tony!” Bucky screams, but Steve’s quick to shut him up with a sloppy, desperate kiss while he backs Bucky up against the wall.

Steve would be gentler—should be gentler—if it weren’t for the fact that Bucky’s been teasing him ever since he’d agreed to their little arrangement. The talking had been bad enough, the bedroom eyes even worse, but the way Bucky grinded against him for the better half of the night finally put Steve over the edge.

Bucky breaks the kiss and grabs hold of Steve’s wrist, dragging him up the stairs and down a seemingly endless hallway before picking a room at random and stumbling inside.

“Steve, you gotta tell me.” Bucky says, every word sounding strained. “You’ve got to be sure—.”

Steve feels along the wall and flicks the light switch. In the light, Steve can see Bucky’s bitten lips and his heaving chest, but also the genuine look on his face that says if Steve asked him to stop right now, he would.

But why on Earth would he ever ask that? Instead he grabs Bucky’s shirt collar and yanks him forward, crushing their bodies together and diving in for another heated kiss. “Bucky.” He says firmly, punctuating his words with brisk kisses. “Do what you said you would. I want you to.”

Bucky’s lips twitch and his eyes glint before he crushes his lips against Steve’s. “Gotta get you out of these fuckin’ clothes, Steve. Help a guy out here, would ya?” He pants against Steve’s bitten lips as his hands make quick work of Steve’s buttons.

Steve nods and shakes his suit jacket off his shoulders, followed by his dress shirt. He no sooner shakes the shirt from his wrists than he’s got Bucky’s warm hands skimming over his bare skin. Bucky drops reverent kisses along his collar bone, whispering to Steve all the while.

“Still can’t believe this, Stevie. Look at you, just look at you.” Bucky mumbles into his skin. “Perfect, so fucking perfect.” His blue eyes flick up to meet Steve’s and he smiles shyly before dropping another kiss to Steve’s heated skin. “Not that you weren’t always…”

“Shut up, Bucky.” Steve breathes, but he doesn’t mean it. Well. He does and he doesn’t. Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of hearing Bucky’s voice, especially not this low, teasing drawl that Bucky’s got going on right now, but he can’t take this.

“What, don’t like hearin’ ‘bout how pretty you are?” Bucky teases. He drops to his knees, keeping his eyes on Steve while he fights with Steve’s belt. He kisses at the skin above Steve’s dress pants before dropping lower and mouthing at Steve’s cock through the fabric.

“Bucky, holy fu—.” Steve bites his lip, willing to draw blood if it means that Bucky won’t get the satisfaction of hearing Steve curse.

And of course the jerk notices, pausing in his ministrations to smirk up at Steve. “Aw, come on, Steve. Don’t be like that.” His mouth draws close to Steve again and he breaths over the wet fabric. “Wanna hear you.”

Steve balls his fists and keeps them pressed against the door. “Bucky, please.”

“You heard what I said.” He says firmly before sliding Steve’s belt from its loops and attacking the zipper with his deft fingers. He yanks Steve’s pants and boxer briefs down in one go and brings his mouth to Steve’s hardened cock.

Steve sucks in a breath and holds it. He doesn’t dare look down at Bucky because he can already picture the smug look on his face, and knowing that smug look is accompanied by Steve’s dick in between those puffy red lips is almost enough to push Steve over the edge then and there. Instead he lets his eyes slip shut and his hands wander into Bucky’s hair, his fingers running through the wild brown locks while Bucky sinks further down on his cock.

“Bucky, Jesus—fuck!” Steve bites out, earning himself a very satisfied hum from Bucky that sends shivers running up Steve’s spine. “Fuck, Bucky, do that again.”

Bucky’s hands slide up Steve’s thighs and settle on his hips, and Steve can tell by the way Bucky’s fingers clench his skin that he wants Steve to look at him. Steve steels his resolve and slowly opens his eyes.

Bucky hums around Steve’s cock while sinking down further than he’d gone before, holding Steve’s gaze and still managing to smirk even with a mouth full of cock. He pulls back and licks at the head before promptly diving back down.

“For fuck’s sake.” Steve whispers, clenching his fingers in Bucky’s hair and fighting the building heat in his stomach. “Where the fuck did you—How do you know how to…” He can’t finish either question, because Bucky’s sucking with growing enthusiasm and Steve realizes that he couldn’t care less where Bucky’d learned this. 

Bucky’s hands drift up Steve’s torso and flick at his nipples, causing him to gasp for air and thrust his hips into Bucky’s mouth. Bucky’s throat flexes around the intrusion, but he doesn’t push Steve back. Instead he hums and pinches at Steve’s nipples again.

“Buck, don’t. I can’t. I’m gonna—fuck Bucky, please. Don’t stop, Bucky.” Steve babbles incoherently. 

Bucky’s only affirmation is another hum that sends Steve’s hips jerking again. His cock slips down Bucky’s throat and Steve can’t help the pitiful whimper it draws out of him. Bucky reaches behind Steve and grips his lower back, keeping Steve right where he is down Bucky’s throat.

Steve looks down and catches Bucky eyes while Bucky’s throat works his cock, and before he can even give the poor guy proper warning, he comes down Bucky’s throat with a strangled cry that he hopes more than anything isn’t overheard by anyone downstairs.

Bucky doesn’t seem too put out, though. He laps at Steve’s softening cock after it slips from his mouth, staring up at Steve with a heated look that makes Steve’s cock twitch while Bucky’s still on his knees.

“Get the fuck up here.” He orders in a sedated, happy voice that hardly sounds like himself.

Bucky smiles and comes willingly, albeit smugly. It looks like he can’t even help the cocky smirk on his face. “How’d I do, Captain?” He asks before pressing a kiss to Steve’s lips. Steve can taste himself on their warm, puffy skin of Bucky’s mouth and that alone has him gearing up for round two.

“You did—That was… Bucky, Jesus.” Steve stutters.

“Eloquent as always.” Bucky teases.

“So you blew me ‘til I begged…” Steve says thoughtfully, and Bucky’s eyebrow quirks in interest. “So I guess it’s about time that you work me open ‘til I’m screaming for you, right?”

“Jesus Christian Christ, Steve.” Bucky whispers before ducking down a bit to haul Steve off his feet and carry him over to the lavish bed on the other side of the room.

“C’mon, Buck, don’t you think I’m too big for that now?” Steve asks, nipping at Bucky’s neck all the same.

Bucky shrugs before dropping Steve onto the bed. Without further comment, he leans up and undoes the buttons of his own dress shirt, tossing it aside carelessly before dropping his pants and climbing on top of Steve.

It’s just like Steve had always imagined it would be, only better. To actually be able to run his hands over Bucky’s heated skin is a far better feeling than anything he could have ever come up with. Bucky’s lips are warm but his tongue is red hot as it drags across Steve’s own. Steve chases Bucky’s kisses whenever the idiot tries to pull away and runs his fingers through Bucky’s hair whenever his lips drag a hot trail down Steve’s throat.

Steve thrusts up against Bucky’s hips, feeling Bucky’s leaking cock press against his own and moaning outright at the feeling. Bucky gasps and thrusts back against him, grinding their cocks together perfectly. 

“Bucky, come on!” Steve whimpers impatiently. He feels Bucky tense under his fingers and for a second he thinks he’s said something wrong, but that’s before Bucky looks up at him with wide and earnest eyes and laughs shakily.

“Steve…I don’t really know what I’m doing here…” He admits quietly.

Steve smiles and presses and chaste kiss to Bucky’s nose. “Neither do I, you idiot. We’ll figure it out.”

“What if I’m awful at it?” Bucky asks.

Steve scoffs and looks down to where their bodies remain flush against one another. “Think you’ve done alright so far, Buck.”

Bucky’s confident smile reemerges on his face and he slips off of Steve momentarily to fish something out of his disregarded pants. He returns with a familiar looking bottle of lube and the condom that Steve remembers surreptitiously stuffing in Bucky’s locker while Natasha called him every version of an idiot that she could think of.

Steve smiles wryly while Bucky crawls back onto the bed. “Glad you finally took the hint.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and kisses Steve soundly before settling in between his legs. “I took the hint when I found a box of condoms in my equipment bag. You have any idea how much shit Clint gave me for that?”

“Clearly not enough to get your ass in gear.” Steve says breathlessly as he watches Bucky spread liberal amounts of lube on his fingers. “You sure you’re supposed to…”

“I watch porn, I’ve done this to myself, I’m pretty sure I’ve got this much down pat, Steve.” Bucky interrupts before Steve can get ahead of himself.

Steve really only gathers one thing from that statement though. “You did this to yourself?” He asks.

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up his face. “Uh…yeah?”

There’s a mental picture that Steve wished he could’ve seen sooner. The idea of Bucky fucking himself on his own fingers was enough to get Steve whimpering and hard all over again, a fact that Bucky noticed with interest.

“Damn, Steve, that get you off? Thinking ‘bout me fucking myself?” Bucky drawls while he leans back and reaches down toward Steve’s hole. “That what you’re thinking about right now?”

Steve nods vehemently and whimpers when Bucky’s slick fingers run around his entrance.

Bucky smiles and presses the tip of his finger against Steve’s hole, strong enough to put pressure there, but not enough to press inside. “I used to pretend it was you, y’know.” Bucky elaborates. “Used to think about you draggin’ me off after one of your games and fucking me behind the score board. Wondered what everyone would think if they saw The Avenger’s golden boy fucking me stupid.”

“Fuck, Bucky, come on.” Steve groans, pushing back against Bucky’s finger.

Bucky relents and slowly pushes inside Steve, allowing for Steve to adjust before dragging his finger back and forth inside of him. “Fuck, Stevie. Look just like how I’d always pictured it.”

“You, too.” Steve admits breathlessly. “Used to think about this all the time.”

Bucky’s lips quirk into a smile, though his eyes remain glued to the parts where he and Steve are connected. “And what did you think about, huh? Our first kiss? Holdin’ hands?” Bucky teases.

Steve takes the challenge. “Nah, I’d think about shutting your smart ass up by riding your cock ‘til you couldn’t speak. ‘Til all you could to was moan and whine and whimper ‘til I finally decided to let you come.”

Bucky’s jaw drops and Steve’s never felt smugger in his entire life. That is until Bucky presses in with a second finger and Steve trembles at the stretch.

“Knew you’d have a mouth on you. Fuckin’ knew it. Nothin’ like the golden boy they think you are, huh, Stevie? I know you better than that. Know you better than anybody.” He mumbles this against the skin of Steve’s neck, and Steve’s willing to bet money that Bucky’s not aware of half the things spilling out of his mind, but he’s not gonna stop him. Not when it’s the second hottest thing that’s ever happened to him, the first having yet to happen.

“Buck, hurry up.” Steve hisses, ignoring the sparks of pain that flare up as Bucky scissors his fingers open inside of him. The pain’s temporary, Steve reminds himself, it’ll go away, and pretty soon he’ll be numb to everything that isn’t Bucky.

Bucky breathes a laugh against Steve’s sweat soaked skin before pulling his lips from his neck and pressing them back to Steve’s lips. “Gotta take my time, Steve. Gotta make it perfect.” He whispers, even as he adds a third finger to the other two.

Steve gasps and his fingers clench in Bucky’s hair, dragging him in for a harsh kiss that does little to do the pleased groans that come tumbling out when Bucky rubs against his prostate. “Right there, Buck.” He breathes between kisses, already rutting against Bucky’s fingers while they work.

“Needy son of a bitch, huh?” Bucky laughs, meeting every one of Steve’s desperate kisses.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have kept me waiting for so long.” Steve fires back.

Bucky smirks and withdraws his fingers, earning him a glare and pout from the boy beneath him. Before Steve can get too worked up, Bucky reaches for the lube again and uses it to coat his aching cock. Steve’s breath catches at the sight of Bucky’s slick hand sliding up and down his own dick. Distracted by the view, Steve barely registers the words coming out of Bucky’s mouth.

“I kept you waiting?” Bucky breathes with a disbelieving chuckle. “You think I pick fights for just anybody? Think I’d sit in Fury’s office for anyone but you?” Bucky licks his swollen lips before biting down, reddening them even more by the second. “Been waitin’ on you forever, Steve.”

Steve leans up and rests on his elbows, his mouth lingering so close to Bucky’s that he can feel his erratic breaths breaking across his face. He smiles softly and commits the look on Bucky’s face to memory: loving, earnest, and the slightest bit drunk on nothing but lust. “Then quit waiting.” He says with a private smile, willing Bucky to close the distance between them.

Bucky whimpers beautifully and gently lowers his lips to Steve’s at the same time that he presses the tip of his cock to Steve. He hesitates, which means that Steve’s got to take control of this before Bucky starts trying to talk himself out of his again. He grips Bucky’s hips and drags him closer, hissing at the stretch as Bucky slips inside his entrance.

“Holy sweet fuckin’ Christ, Steve.” Bucky breathes, his entire body tensing at the sensation of sinking inside Steve’s tight body.

“I know, Buck.” Steve says, peppering kisses to the side of Bucky’s face. He feels like he’s being split open in the best way and the worst way simultaneously. It hurts like Hell, but it’s Bucky. He’s got his hands on Bucky, and Bucky is his in every way that counts, and Bucky’s the first to ever make Steve feel like this and Steve wouldn’t have it any other way. It couldn’t have gone any other way, if he thinks about it.

His first friend. His first kiss. His first love. His first time. Bucky. Bucky. Bucky. Bucky.

“Fucking Hell.” Bucky groans when he finally bottoms out inside of Steve. His hands are sliding over every plane of Steve’s body that he can reach, like he’s trying to memorize the shaking muscles and the sensitive skin beneath him. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

“It’d be better if you moved.” Steve said, wriggling his hips to convey his message.

Bucky laughs and slowly drags his hips away from Steve, only to slide back a moment later. “Jeez, you try to be nice to a guy…”

“Don’t want nice…” Steve breathes, trying to drown in the feeling of Bucky moving inside him. “Want you to fuck me.”

Bucky’s eyes glint mischievously and Steve’s imagined that look on his face a million times before. It houses filthy promises that Steve can’t wait to cash in on, and Bucky’s casting that hungry gaze on him, and him alone. The feeling shoots right to his dick, and is only intensified when Bucky’s cock drags over his prostate, dragging a drawn out moan from between Steve’s abused lips.

“If you wanted me to fuck you, all you had to do was ask.” Bucky teases as his hips pick up speed. “We coulda been doin’ this all the time, Steve.”

Steve’s hands skitter all over Bucky’s body before coming to a rest on the shifting muscles of his back. His fingernails dig into the soft skin his finds there and he leave angry red welts, crimson lines of ownership and lust and love that Steve quietly hope never fade.

“That’s it, pretty boy, mark me up.” Bucky mumbles. He drops a filthy kiss on Steve’s lips, all teeth and tongue, before shifting down to Steve’s neck and biting into the skin there, leaving marks of his own. Steve knows that Bucky knows his sensitive skin is gonna bruise like no tomorrow, and that there’s no hiding bruises like that. Bucky wants them there. Bucky wants them to be seen. The thought drives Steve’s hips to meet Bucky’s, and the pair groan at the feeling.

“Not a pretty boy.” Steve grumbles, latching on to Bucky’s hips in order to catch his rhythm with his own thrusts.

Bucky’s breathing hitches and his hands clenched in the sheets next to Steve’s head. Steve’s eyes wander up from where he’s been watching their bodies slide together to Bucky’s eyes, which are so dark by now that he can’t tell where blue starts and black ends. The look Bucky’s giving him combined with the drag of his cock over his prostate drives Steve to the edge, and his hands reach up to drag through Bucky’s hair and keep him close.

“Bucky, please.” Steve whimpers, biting at the swollen lower lip of Bucky’s mouth, which is hanging open as his heavy breathing turns into breathless panting.

“Waddaya want, Stevie?” Bucky asks, his hips losing their pace and slamming erratically against Steve’s. “I’ll give ya anything, I swear.”

“Just wanna come, Bucky.” Steve whimpers, his fingers getting impossibly tight in Bucky’s hair. “Want you to make me.”

Bucky nods and reaches between them to grab Steve’s cock, and with a little more than a handful of prefect strokes, Steve’s keening and arching into Bucky’s body, crushing their lips together in a futile attempt to stay quiet.

Bucky follows right after, biting into Steve’s lower lip only to pull back and drag the abused flesh with him. Steve whimpered at the feeling and rose up with him; following the pull until Bucky released him and let him crash back onto the bed in sated bliss.

Bucky slides off of him and cuddles up to his side immediately, like some sort of insatiable cat, and Steve wraps a boneless arm around him. Bucky’s uneven breathing fans across Steve’s sweaty chest, and he thinks that this might actually have been worth waiting for. It was worth every second, as a matter of fact.

Their peace is disturbed by and bang on the other side of the door, followed by muffled snickering and urgent hushes. Steve and Bucky exchange exasperated glances before resorting to a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors to determine who would have the honors of getting up.

“You pick rock every time, Buck.” Steve says with a chuckle as he watches Bucky pull on his underwear. Or maybe it’s his own underwear. He can’t really tell.

“I’m a dependable guy.” Bucky says, as if that excuses him losing every game since they were seven.

Steve sits up in bed and watches Bucky pad over to the door before flinging it open quickly. Light floods the room in two forms: one from the light in the hall, and the other in the form of a camera’s flash that must’ve nearly blinded Bucky by the sound of his yelp. Steve can only imagine what a picture they make: Bucky disheveled and scratched, Steve bitten and bruised. Each clinging to modesty by a thread.

“I got it, I got it!” Steve can hear Clint screaming, followed by the sounds of footsteps bounding down the hall.

“Son of a bitch!” Bucky grumbles before tearing off down the hall after Clint, even though he’s still rubbing the flash-spots from his eyes.

Steve doesn’t move from the bed, but rather listens to the resulting scuffle that takes place down the hall. He can hear several muffled, “FUCK YOU”’s and even a few death threats, but several minutes later Bucky returns with Clint’s cellphone in hand. He locks the door behind him before crawling back into bed with Steve.

It doesn’t take long for Clint to return, banging drunkenly on the door and pleading for his phone back.

Bucky cuddles back into Steve’s side and turns the phone over in his palm. “You can have it back in the morning, jackass!”

Clint groans in frustration, but ultimately relents and returns to the party.

Steve takes the phone from Bucky and looks at the picture still on the screen. Bucky’s face is twisted in shock and pain, the flash makes him near translucent, and his bed head is downright ridiculous. In the background Steve looks like the picture of debauchery surrounded by rumbled sheets with angry red marks trailing from his jaw to his chest.

They keep the picture. For propriety’s sake. And if they take a few more that night, that’s Clint’s problem to deal with.


	4. Marvel University

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  And I remember you laughing  
> So let's just laugh again  
> But don't burn out  
> Even if you scream and shout  
> It'll come back to you, back to you.
> 
>   
> _Through the Dark_ // One Direction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [SO MUCH LATER THAT THE OLD NARRATOR DIED AND THEY HAD TO FIND A NEW ONE]
> 
> I'm so sorry I am a hunk of trash and I am so ashamed of my life and my life choices. I hope this chapter makes up for my absence!!
> 
> So the pace of this one is a little different--since I'm packing four years into 13k words, I tried to take snap-shot moments from important milestones for Steve and Bucky, all leading up to, well...you know...
> 
> ANYWAY I hope everyone enjoys this, and again, this is your pilot speaking: I am garbage.
> 
> YEah!!!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always kind and so so appreciated, I love hearing your feedback, however rambling and excited it is!!!

_The steady beeping of the heart monitor lulls him to sleep. Despite Steve’s best efforts he can’t keep his eyes from drooping or his head from hanging, and if he tries hard enough, he thinks he can convince himself that behind his closed eyelids, he and Bucky are back at their apartment, and it’s a sleepy Sunday night…and they’ve got class in the morning…and he can’t miss it…_

_Steve is startled awake by a sudden commotion in the room. Still-half asleep and fully confused, he looks around the room to find that it’s not as empty as it had been when he’d nodded off. There are white coats pacing about the room, and they’re all speaking in murmurs and whispers, and Bucky’s sitting up in bed with a confused look on his face, and…_

__Bucky’s sitting up in bed…_ _

_“Bucky!” Steve exclaims, rushing to cling to Bucky’s body, which still looks so small in the bed they’ve got him tucked into. But Steve can’t get his arms around him because he’s got half the doctors in the room grabbing at him from all angles, jerking him towards the door, not letting him anywhere near Bucky. “Lemme go!” Steve growls, his eyes still on Bucky and the confused look on his best guy’s face. “Lemme talk to him! Bucky!” He cries again, willing Bucky to tell these good-for-nothing doctors to let him go, to let Steve hold him._

_But Bucky’s face shows no emotion, no inclination to speak on Steve’s behalf._

_“Bucky, come on!” Steve yells, still fighting against the doctor’s grip, struggling even as they drag him closer to the doorway._

_Finally, Bucky speaks. It’s just not the words Steve wants to hear._

_“Who the Hell is Bucky?”_

**THREE YEARS EARLIER**

Steve’s read somewhere—in one of the billion books that Bucky’s _insisted_ he reads—that time has an unfair way of speeding up when all one wants to do is slow it down. He’s never thought it to be very true, but now it’s August 31st and on his calendar Clint’s messy scrawl fills the box in smudged purple ink that loudly labels this particular date as, “THE WORST DAY EVER.”, and Steve can’t help but agree.

“You’ve got my phone number, right?” Clint asks as he slams the trunk of his car shut, the hinges of so called, “Ol’ Reliable” groaning in protest.

“Unless you changed it between now and the time you texted us to wake our worthless asses up and come help you pack, yeah pal, I think we’ve got it.” Bucky says with a smirk.

Clint shuffles uneasily on his feet. “Right, right. Of course.” He hesitates for a moment. “You want my e-mail, too? Just in case?”

“Oh, right, God forbid we can’t forward you any chain mail at a moment’s notice.” Tony mumbles as he and Bruce pass, struggling under the weight of one of the cardboard boxes labeled ‘NATASHA’ that they’re trying to force into the back seat.

“Put your backs into it, boys!” Natasha calls from the driver’s seat.

Clint continues to stall, and Steve doesn’t blame him. He and Nat are the first to go, save for Thor and his hasty, somewhat mysterious departure for Asgard last year. (Steve still remembers the sleepless night he and Bucky had spent searching for flights, boats, buses, or trains to any place that so much as rhymed with ‘Asgard’, which had been fruitless, which made it all the more frustrating.) If Steve were in Clint’s shoes, he’d be in about the same state.

“I’ll send you a carrier pigeon if I have to.” Steve says consolingly. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Clint nods slowly, keeping his eyes on the ground. “Right. Right.” He repeats himself softly. He quickly pulls his tinted shades over his face and makes a sound suspiciously close to a sniffle. “Well, I’ll see you assholes for Thanksgiving. Tell your mom I’m expecting big things from her after last year.” He says.

“I’ll be sure to tell her.” Steve says warmly.

Clint heads for the car, clapping Tony and Bruce on the back, and cackling at the way they wince and grab their aching muscles. He ducks into the passenger seat and slams the door behind him, and just like that, with a fleeting honk of the horn and the sound of wheels squealing against a freshly paved road, they’re gone.

It doesn’t get any easier after that. Both emotionally and physically. Two days later, Bucky and Steve arrive at Tony’s to help move “ _a few_ ” things from the house to the moving van parked at the top of the driveway. Little did they know (and Steve blames Tony for this little oversight) “a few” things turns out to be a back breaking amount of heavy lifting.

“Look at it this way:” Tony says from the lawn chair in which he sits to survey the driveway, which happens to be where Bucky and Steve are currently wrestling with a very expensive, very _heavy_ piece of equipment, “Erksine didn’t give you all those muscles so you could waste them away in the off season. I’m keeping you in shape, Rogers, lemme see a little hussle out there.”

“’M gonna kill him.” Bucky growls, and although Steve can’t see him from across the machinery, he can imagine the way Bucky’s lips are pursed, and how his eyebrows must be knit together in concentration, and how the summer sun must be raising a fine sweat on his forehead. It’s a shame there’s a hundred and fifty pounds of metal between them, because Bucky probably looks like a sight to see.

“Just a few more feet.” Steve replies, breathless and straining to keep his own temper from flaring. They’ve been moving Bruce and Tony’s lab equipment from the house to the van all morning, and Tony’s done nothing but sip Twisted Teas and complain about how long it’s taking.

They no sooner pack the last of the machinery into the truck than Pepper rushes by them, a clipboard tucked under her arm and three separate itineraries clutched in her hand.

“So that was the last of that…” She mumbles, more to herself than to either Steve or Bucky, and ticks off an item on one of the itineraries. “We’ve got the bedding, the food, the books, the furniture, the clothes…”

“And now all we need is you.” Tony says as he saunters up behind her and plucks the papers from her hand only to unceremoniously crumple them and toss them aside. He looks from Pepper’s scandalized face to Steve and Bucky. “Well, boys, it’s been a pleasure.”

“Wish I could say the same.” Bucky grumbles loud enough that Tony can hear and pretend to be offended by it, which he does, in true melodramatic fashion. Bruce ambles over half way through the act, bringing the performance to a merciful close.

“We’ll see each other before we know it.” He says sagely, offering Steve and Bucky his hand to shake. To Steve it seems so informal, but one look down at his own sweat soaked t-shirt is enough to justify Bruce’s disinterest in bodily contact.

While they shake hands, Pepper begins frantically flipping through the pages still attached to her clipboard. “I have them here somewhere... I wrote down all our numbers, our Skypes, our new addresses… Oh, they’ve just got to be here somewhere! I know it! Where did I…” 

“Pepper.” Steve says soothingly. “You gave them to us an hour ago.”

Pepper pauses, recollects, and then slaps her forehead with a chuckle. “I’m so stupid.”

“If you’re stupid, then what the hell does that make us? Apes?” Bucky asks..

Pepper’s hugs are so tight that any breath Steve may have recovered is quickly stolen out of his lungs again.

Tony offers only a mock salute before swaggering away, but before he climbs into the front of the rental truck alongside Pepper and Bruce, he turns back to the two boys left standing alone in his driveway. “Anyone gives you any trouble down at Marvel, you let me know, alright? There’s not a computer I can’t hack.”

Steve nods, “We’ll keep that in mind.”

Tony smiles and climbs into the truck. Not a moment after the door closes behind him, ACDC’s ‘ _Highway to Hell_ thrums from the speakers, and over the opening guitar rift, Steve can hear the sound of Bruce and Pepper begging for mercy, and Tony’s indignant protests.

***

Day breaks on September 4th and Steve barely has time to register that his alarm’s going off before his mother flies in the room and collapses atop his bed and, by extension, himself and begins sobbing into his comforter.

It’s Marvel’s move-in day.

The trip from NY to DC didn’t take nearly as long as Steve would have imagined, what with Bucky’s reckless driving and Steve’s own artfully crafted playlist that was, in fact, _not_ grandpa music, though Tony always told him differently.

Just over four hours after he and Bucky bid a sniffling Ms. Rogers goodbye, they pull up to the sprawling brick-building ridden campus of Marvel University. Steve has to fight the urge to hang his head out the window and gape at the architecture, the colors, and the people. His fingers are twitching toward his sketchbook when Bucky pulls up to the curb in front of one of the older looking buildings.

“Here we are, Stevie. Xavier Hall.” Bucky barks a laugh as he swings open the car door and stretches his aching legs. “Welcome home, pal!”

Steve opens his door and climbs out; only to turn and gape at the ivy-laden building which stretches so far into the sky that Steve has to squint into the sun just to see the top. “Wow.” He whispers reverently, taking a moment to let it all sink in.

A blaring honk knocks him out of his reverie, and he turns to see a line of cars struggling to sneak by him where he stands in the middle of the road.

The young man who’d honked hangs his head out the window and calls to Steve, “I’d hit you if I didn’t think you’d destroy my car! What factory spit you out, buddy?” He heckles, chuckling at his own joke.

“Wade, don’t be such a jerk!” The boy in the seat next to him scolds as Wade, as he’d been called, floors the gas and flies by Steve, who had stepped aside in order to let traffic pass. From behind him, he can hear Bucky’s laughter.

“Making friends already, I see?” He teases, sauntering towards the trunk. Steve just scoffs and follows him.

When Steve and Bucky arrive at his room on the seventh floor—1-776—they can already hear the sound of someone shuffling around inside as well as music wafting through the door.

“ _I’ve come of heart, but that’s okay, ‘cause Trouble Man don’t get in my way…_ ”

“Is he listening to Marvin Gaye?” Bucky chuckles. 

“I know I don’t hear my roommate talking trash about the King of Soul…” A voice calls from the other side of the door. “You better get your ass in here so I can educate you on some good music!”

“I’m going to _kill_ you.” Steve hisses to Bucky, reaching for the handle.

“How was I supposed to know the kid’s got falcon hearing?” Bucky hisses back.

Steve glares for another second before turning the knob and letting himself in. The left side of the room has been left entirely untouched, but on the right stands a tall boy with dark skin and black hair, his eyes alight with laughter. His bed is already made with various shades of green sheets, and his walls are covered with posters of women and jet planes and pictures from home—most of which feature a boy with sandy brown hair and lively green eyes.

“So which one of you’s got a problem with my boy Marvin?” He asks, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

Steve’s quick to rat Bucky out with a point of his finger. Bucky whacks him in the shoulder before huffing and owning up to it.

The boy nods pensively before walking over to one of the many crates he’s still got stacked in the corner of the room. From one of the boxes he pulls out an old record and blows the dust off before handing it to Bucky. “No friend of mine’s gonna go another day without appreciating the Trouble Man Soundtrack.”

Bucky eyes the record like it’s covered in slime before tentatively reaching out for it. “Thanks, uh…”

“Sam Wilson.” The boy says brightly, offering his other hand for Bucky to shake. “You my new roommate?”

“No, that’d be me.” Steve says, offering Sam his hand. “Steve Rogers.”

Sam takes Steve’s hand and drags him in for a one-arm hug, clapping Steve hard enough on the back to make him wince. “Glad to finally meet you man. Now, I’m gonna give it to you straight: I’ve got low tolerance for snoring, so if that’s how it’s gonna be, I’ll set you up a tent in the hallway and you can make yourself at home.”

Steve laughs and shakes his head. “I’m not the snorer around here, he is.” He explains, nodding to Bucky who’s still staring at the Trouble Man vinyl like it might bite him.

Sam nods thoughtfully, “He won’t be staying over much, will he?”

Steve and Bucky both exchange tight lipped smiles before turning back to Sam.

“Nah, I don’t even like this punk.” Bucky says with a smirk.

“I can’t seem to shake him.” Steve jokes.

Sam’s eyes narrow immediately and dart between Steve and Bucky analytically. “Brothers?” He asks.

“Boyfriends, actually.” Bucky says, and Steve’s heart swells at the pride that Bucky’s voice carries with the word.

Sam snaps his fingers like he should have known better. “So, I’ll be spending my freshman year in Sexile?”

Steve is quick to assure Sam, “No, absolutely not!”, but Bucky’s just as quick to confirm Sam’s worst nightmares with a wicked smirk and an equally wicked, “Damn straight.”

Sam groans loudly before turning and immersing himself in unpacking. “Just give a man some warning: Sock on the handle, note on the door, Hell, write it in the sky for all I care. Don’t need to be seeing neither of your bare asses on a regular basis, no way.” From one of the other assorted boxes in the pile, he pulls a lava lamp so ostentatious that it practically hurts to look at.

“What the Hell is that?” Steve asks, staring at the tacky lamp in Sam’s hand.

“A _lava lamp_?” Sam shakes the lamp from side to side, sending the liquid inside swirling around. “Don’t tell me you didn’t bring one…” Steve shakes his head and Sam looks visibly distressed. “Come on, man! Cut it out! Everybody dreams of having a lava lamp in college, everybody!”

Steve just shrugs. “Not me.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Alright, old man. I’ll respect your old-timey sensibilities and keep the room as plain as possible. Why don’t you run and unpack your grandfather clock from your Model-T, I assume that’s what you’re driving.

Steve scoffs, but follows the order anyway. 

Later that night, Sam stares at the cardboard shield hanging over Steve’s bed. “The Hell is that thing?” He asks, pointing to the offending item.

Steve looks up from his book, then up over his head at the shield. “That’s my shield.” He explains.

Sam purses his lips and his dark brows draw together. “Your shield’s messin’ with my feng shui.”

“Your what now?”

“My vibes, man. My flow. My feng shui. You do _not_ wanna mess with a man’s feng shui.”

Steve lowers his book marginally and squints at Sam. “The shield stays.”

Sam huffs and waves him away with his hand before turning back to his side of the room. “Whatever you say.” He mumbles. He suddenly stops and looks over his shoulder slowly, smirking a smirk so devious that Steve knows he should be scared long before Sam says a word. “If you’re keeping that eye sore, I’m taking out the lava lamp.”

Steve has no choice but to relent. So the shield stays. And so does the lava lamp.

**TWO YEARS EARLIER**

“Are you even listening to yourself? Really, I should be recording this. It’s fucking priceless.”

“You know, I find this all to be real fucking rich, coming from you, Buck.”

“Enlighten me, Steve! Do tell me how you’ve managed to turn this back on me!”

“Uh…I’m gonna head out, do y’all need anything, or…?”

“NO!” They bark in unison. Sam’s standing in the doorway looking personally affronted while Steve and Bucky stand huffing in the middle of the room.

“Alright-y then. Enjoy your lover’s quarrel.” Sam says before backing out of the room, muttering under his breath.

Steve takes a moment to recollect himself and breathe, but Bucky’s making it near impossible to be rational. “All’s I’m saying is…I know what I’m doing, and I just need you to trust me…”

“You don’t know, Steve! You never know what you’re doing! You just hope for the best and pray it don’t blow up in your face, and miraculously, it always seems to fucking work out for you!” Bucky yells. His face is dangerously red, having worked its way through every shade of pink as their hour long argument raged on.

It had begun two weeks ago—when Bucky had waltzed into the art studio with Chinese takeout and every intention of surprising Steve with a late night dinner only to find Steve crumped in front of his easel nursing a bottle of Jack Daniels while he stared morosely at the blank canvas in front of him. Bucky had got him back on his feet, put some all American (Chinese-American) cuisine in his belly, then spit balled ideas until finally Steve was inspired enough to start on his final project.

A few days later, Bucky was walking back from a meeting with his advisor when he happened upon Steve in an alley between the Science and Arts buildings in a fist fight with three guys his size. Bucky had been quick to intervene, and somehow managed to pull Steve from the fight, snarling and thrashing the whole way. Steve wouldn’t tell him why he’d been fighting, only that they deserved it. Bucky didn’t question him. Steve never lied. Instead he calmed Steve down by taking him back to their room together, now in Parker Hall, and putting on one of Steve’s favorite old black-and-white movies.

Steve fell asleep in Bucky’s arms long before Bucky was able to tell Steve he’d lined up an internship for himself. But Bucky figured it could wait.

So he waited. The week following the fight was consumed with midterms, be that taking them or studying for them. Even though they lived together, Bucky saw Steve so rarely that he could count the number of times he and Steve had a conversation that week on one hand. Bucky knew that Steve frequented a specific corner of the J. Grey Library: the alcove with the window that overlooks the sprawling city streets. Steve always said it reminded him of home, and so that’s where Bucky went.

But Steve wasn’t in his nook. Sure, everything else belonging to Steve was there: his backpack, his dopey reading glasses, and three or four empty coffee cups all labeled ‘Steve’. Bucky had looked around the tables near the alcove, but when he couldn’t find Steve, he started wandering the aisles. 

Sure enough he found Steve crumpled up in a heap leaning against the Art History stacks. The book in his lap was open, but Steve’s eyes weren’t, and his head was lolling while he slept. Bucky heaved a long suffering sigh before stooping over to toss the book aside and shake Steve awake. Steve had a million excuses, but Bucky didn’t really care to hear them.

But this was the straw that broke Bucky’s back. Steve arrived at the dorm with a flurry of papers in tow and a harried look on his face. To Bucky’s inquisitive eyebrow, he explained that their RA—Scott—had nominated Steve as a possible candidate for the RA position next year. Steve went on to explain how great the pay was, how he’d have his own room so he and Bucky could still hang out whenever they wanted, and how all it meant was that Steve would have to make time for a little more paperwork.

But Bucky had stopped listening. His jaw worked and his teeth clenched. Everything was white noise. Admittedly, he hadn’t gone completely deaf, and he could hear Sam congratulating Steve from where he sat balancing precariously on one leg of Bucky’s desk chair. Steve was working real hard to sound excited, but Bucky could see straight through him.

“You really think that’s a bright idea, pal?” Bucky’s asked, barely containing the malice in his voice. “You already got a lot on your plate.”

Steve shrugged like his workload was no big deal, but Bucky new better. He’d seen Steve’s schedule. If he wasn’t in class, he was at football practice, and if he wasn’t at practice he was studying, and if he wasn’t studying he was working in the library, and if he wasn’t in the library he was in the studio working on a project. Never mind the time Steve had to find to feed himself, entertain his friends, spend time with Bucky, and sleep. 

“I mean its six grand a year, Buck. I think I can miss a few hours of sleep for that…” He’d said. Like Bucky was the one being an idiot.

Bucky pursed his lips momentarily before letting out a hallow laugh. “And how many hours of sleep have you missed because of the shit you’ve already got to do? Hm?”

Sam slowly lowered his chair and looked between Bucky and Steve cautiously. Sure, he’d been the reluctant witness to a few of Bucky and Steve’s tiffs, but he’d never been here for this. The tension in the room was mounting quickly.

Steve gaped for a minute before scoffing. “I—I get plenty of sleep, Buck.”

“And that’s why I found you cuddled up with a bookshelf last week, right?” Bucky bit back, his eyes hardening.

“I think I’m gonna see what Maria’s up to…” Sam said, though his words were lost to Steve’s mocking laugh.

“Oh, Bucky, come on! That was one time, jeez. Thought I’d left Ma back in Brooklyn, but no—she’s right here.”

“Yeah, no, I’m definitely gonna see what Maria is up to.” Sam repeated, shrugging on his jacket and making for the door.

And this is where they find themselves, staring at each other from across the room, color rising in their cheeks and bodies tensing for an all-out war.

“Are you even listening to yourself? Really, I should be recording this. It’s fucking priceless.”

“You know, I find this all to be real fucking rich, coming from you, Buck.”

“Enlighten me, Steve! Do tell me how you’ve managed to turn this back on me!”

“Uh…I’m gonna head out, do y’all need anything, or…?”

“NO!” 

“Alright-y then. Enjoy your lover’s quarrel.”

“All’s I’m saying is…I know what I’m doing, and I just need you to trust me…”

“You don’t know, Steve! You never know what you’re doing! You just hope for the best and pray it don’t blow up in your face, and miraculously, it always seems to fucking work out for you!” Steve wipes a hand over his face, and in the harsh light of the dorm Bucky can see the stark contrast between the bags under Steve’s eyes and his skin. “When’s the last time you got your eight hours?” Bucky asks hollowly.

Steve shrugs. “I get my sleep.” Bucky breathes sharply from his nose and stares at Steve until he gets the answer he wants. “So what? I haven’t been sleeping, big deal. This could be great for me, Buck. For us! It pays better than the library does, which means I can save some money instead of sending it all back to Ma! We can save up, and maybe by the end of next year we can—.”

“I got the internship.” Bucky interjects. His voice is solemn. When he’d pictured telling Steve, he’d hoped to do it in bed, after Steve had fucked him silly six ways to Sunday, when they were warm and content and so fucking in love. But Bucky doesn’t always get what he wants, simple as that.

At least the news seems to bring Steve to a halt. “You—you did? When? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” He stammers.

The corner of Bucky’s lip twitches. “Found out the day you got into that fight. You were so keyed up I figured I’d wait ‘til you were in a better mood…now look at us.” He chuckles softly. “Stark’s dad just bought up a big ol’ lab in DC, so my advisor passed my name along and, waddaya know. They want me.” 

Steve smiles, and it’s genuine. “Buck, that’s great!”

“Pays real good—great even.” Bucky continues. “It’s a train ride away; I’ll be home by six every night. I figured by the end of next year, with your job at the library, you and me could find a place of our own near campus.” He admits.

Steve’s mouth hangs open the slightest bit, and Bucky can’t help but think about how much he’s missed kissing those lips for the past couple weeks. “Bucky, I’d, I’d love to, and I think that’s great—.”

“But I can’t take the job.”

Steve startles again like he’s got serious whiplash. “What, why not?”

“Because my punk-ass boyfriend’s got a death wish, and I’m scared that if I leave him for more than a minute, he’s gonna wind up dead.” Bucky says, staring at Steve and hoping he doesn’t sound as broken as he feels.

Steve sighs again and shakes his head. “I don’t got a—.”

“The fuck’s goin’ on with you, Steve? Why are you lyin’ to me? It’s _me_.” Bucky whimpers the last word, and he knows his resolve is breaking. He knows he doesn’t look angry any more. He looks defeated.

Steve rests his hands on his hips and studies the floor in front of him, and Bucky waits. He’s willing to wait all night if it means Steve’ll finally tell him what’s going on.

“I’m just…under a lot of stress right now. I don’t wanna let myself down. Not my Ma…you…myself.” Steve finally admits.

Bucky gestures to the RA applications sitting on Steve’s desk. “And you think this shit’s gonna help your case? You’ve seen the way Scott gets. Summers’s wound so tight, I’m waiting for the day the kid rips off those stupid sunglasses and shoots lasers out of his eyes or something. He probably only nominated you so he could quit and live his life in peace.”

Steve glares at Bucky. “You don’t think I could do it.” He says coldly.

Bucky resists the urge to beat his head off the wall. “Stevie, come on, you know I think you could fight an army by yourself if you felt so inclined, I’m sayin’ you gotta take care of yourself first. Then you can think about caring for all these cry-babies who can’t last a day without their mamas.” Steve smiles wryly, and Bucky can see his defenses melting. “You stayin’ in tonight?”

Steve shrugs again. “I’ve got a paper due Friday for my lit course. I think I ought to get a jump start on it.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow and it takes every fiber of his being not to actually smack Steve on the back of the head. “It’s Tuesday…”

“Yeah, but it’s never a bad idea to get a head start…on…things… What are you doing?” Steve’s speech slows as he watches Bucky strip of his t-shirt and his pajama pants.

Bucky kneels on the bed and opens his arms in a challenge. “It’s never a bad idea to fuck your boyfriend either. Can the paper wait, Stevie? Please?”

Steve seems to be at war with himself, and for just a second Bucky thinks he might actually have to throw something, but finally Steve’s resolve cracks, and he rushes across the room into Bucky’s arms.

“Fucking finally.” Bucky breathes harshly between rough kisses. It’s been two weeks. Two whole weeks and Bucky can’t take it anymore and it’s hitting him all at once just how much he’d missed Steve and craved his touch and his tongue and he feels so hot he could burn right up.

Steve chuckles against the column of Bucky’s throat before diving in to nip at the skin across his neck. “Jeez, Buck,” he whispers between bites, “y’sure know how to get a guy to unwind. You shoulda thought of this earlier.”

“Less talking.” Bucky urges.

“You better find a way to shut me up then, ‘cause—.” The rest of Steve’s words are lost to muffled mumbles as Bucky grips Steve’s chin and drags his lips back to his own, whimpering at the contact. His hand drops from Steve’s face to the fly of his pants, yanking insistently until Steve chuckles and shakes his head. “I got the picture, Buck, relax.”

“Can’t. Gotta have you, Stevie. Missed you. Had me so worried about your dumb punk ass.” Bucky breathes while he watches Steve’s deft fingers take off from his jeans. He huffs when Steve breaks away in order to toss his pants aside, but he can’t help the wave of contentment that crashes over him when Steve joins him on his bed. His hands fly to Steve’s muscled back, and he relishes in the feel of every miniscule movement Steve makes as he ducks his head to nip at Bucky’s collarbones.

Bucky strips Steve of his t-shirt and then rakes his nails down Steve’s skin, answering Steve’s groan with a blissful sigh of his own. 

“Missed you right back, Buck.” Steve whispers.

Bucky sighs contentedly and slips his hand between him and Steve’s bodies, palming at the growing hardness in Steve’s shorts. “Missed this thing, too.”

Steve chuckles, but Bucky knows Steve’s just appeasing him and his awful humor. “I’ll give it to ya, Buck.” Steve says softly between gentle kisses that lead from Bucky’s chest up to his neck, and finally back on his lips. “You just gotta ask for it.”

Bucky yanks at Steve’s boxers, freeing his cock before flipping their positions so he can shimmy his own boxers clear off his body. “Will you give me your cock, Stevie? Can you make me come on your cock, make me weak for it?”

Color rises from Steve’s chest to his cheeks, and Bucky takes a moment to watch the blood rush under his flawless skin. “Fuck, Bucky.” Steve whispers, his hand reaching up to wrap in Bucky’s hair before slowly trailing it down, down, down Bucky’s body to grip his cock and stroke it lazily. “Think I could do that for you, yeah.”

“Then what the fuck you waiting for?” Bucky gasps, thrusting into Steve’s hand, simultaneously rocking back onto Steve’s dick.

Steve complies and reaches over into the drawer of the desk beside Bucky’s bed and grabs the lube inside before handing it to Bucky, who stares at it like it’s an alien concept to him.

“No, Stevie, I need you to—I want you to fuck me this time, Stevie, I need it.”

Steve smiles like a perfect angel, which Bucky thinks is real fucking ironic given their current situation. “I know that.” He says simply.

“So what the Hell do you expect me to do with—.”

“I expect you to finger yourself.” Steve explains softly, tucking his arms behind his head and using his eyes to rake over every inch of Bucky’s body. “And I wanna watch you do it.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, and a shocked guffaw slips passed his lips. “You kinky bastard…” He mutters, to which Steve only preens and nods his head in what Bucky takes to mean, “ _Get on with it, already_.”

And so he does. He starts by readying his first finger, getting it wet enough that it’s nearly dripping before reaching behind himself. He looks down to make sure Steve’s watching before slipping the digit inside himself. The stretch makes him whimper, which draws a strangled whisper of Bucky’s name from Steve’s lips. 

“You look so good, Bucky. Bet you feel even better. Bet you feel like fucking heaven, you always do.” Steve says. Ever since Bucky had let slip that Steve’s voice combined with all the filthy things he says gets Bucky’s motor running, Steve’s been relentless, and tonight seems like it’s going to be no exception.

Bucky continues to add fingers, and Steve continues to reward him with filthy whispers and promises. Bucky gets all the way up to four before Steve grabs Bucky’s arm and yanks him forward, sending Bucky tumbling onto Steve’s chest, panting and whining at the loss and the emptiness he feels. 

That is, of course, until he feels Steve reach around his body and grip his dick, lining it up to Bucky’s hole and pressing hard enough to tease, but not enough to give Bucky was he needs.

“Steve. Stevie.” Bucky gasps, lifting his head so he can look into Steve’s baby blues. “Come on, babe. Come on. Come on.” He whines over and over, writhing over Steve’s body like he’s aching for it—which he is. He really, really is.

Which is why, when Steve finally does slide inside, Bucky feels like he could cry and die happily in this too-small bed with this too-perfect boy.

“God fuckin’ help me, Steve.” Bucky groans, rocking back on the hard dick inside him. “Feels so fucking good.” Steve laughs softly and pushes Bucky up until he’s in the perfect position to ride Steve for all he’s worth, which is just what Bucky plans to do until Steve takes a firm hold of his waist. “Stevie, what are ya—.”

Without warning, Steve rams in and out of Bucky hard enough to jostle Bucky into resting his hands on Steve’s chest for balance. Bucky’s eyes squeeze shut, and he moans outright at the pleasure sparking through him. He can’t believe he’d made it two weeks without this, and he doesn’t feel much like doing that ever again.

“Better hold on to something, Buck.” Steve warns before setting a relentless pace, slamming into Bucky with abandon, grunting softly with every thrust.

Bucky silently thinks that this is the shit people die for: this feeling right here. He’d take a flying leap of faith into nothing if it meant getting to feel like this every day of his life. He tries his best to meet Steve’s thrusts, but in the end he just reaches up for the headboard and just holds on for dear life.

He gasps Steve’s name over and over, like it’s the only word he’s ever learned. The minutes drag on, and Bucky feels like he’s being kept on the very edge, and that just one push will send him straight over the edge. He looks down at Steve pleadingly, and it’s like Steve can read his mind.

“You gonna come Buck? You wanna? Tell me what you want.” Steve demands, his thrusts becoming slower and deeper, which drives Bucky right up a wall.

“Yes, yes, I want to come. You gotta let me, Stevie, Steve, you gotta make me.” Bucky pleads.

“I didn’t hear a please.” Steve chides. Bucky thinks he ought to hit him, but he’s got a one-track mind right now.

“ _Please_ , fuck me til I come, Stevie. I wanna come for you.” Bucky wines, and that seems to be all Steve really wanted, because he resumes his brutal pace and rakes his blunt nails down Bucky’s spine.

“Come on, Buck, let it go. Been dying for my cock for weeks, and now you’ve finally got it. Wanna feel you come on it, babe, wanna feel you let go.” Steve whispers, eyes on Bucky even as he tilts his head back and screams, coming in bursts on Steve’s chest. “Bucky, shit!” Steve cries, following soon after, dragging Bucky down on top of him to cling to as he rode out his orgasm with aborted thrusts.

Finally, when Steve manages to stop shaking, Bucky lazily rolls off his boyfriend’s body in order to breathe. When Bucky finally catches his breath, he laughs and wipes the sweat from his brow. “Fu—Fuckin’ Hell, Steve. Where the Hell’d that come from, eh? Steve? Stevie?” Bucky turns his head to look at Steve, but Steve is already fast asleep with his face pressed so deep in the pillow Steve thinks he might just suffocate if he’s not careful. Bucky makes a mental note to chide Steve about passing out after sex, but for now, he’s content to roll over and snuggle into Steve’s side.

Steve sleeps until three the next afternoon. Bucky wakes him in time for his 4:30 class, but contents himself through most of the morning simply by watching the steady rise and fall of Steve’s chest.

**ONE YEAR EARLIER**

“Well, what about this one?”

“Too small.”

“And you said the other one was too big! And the one before that was ‘too retro’! And the first one we looked at was ‘ _not very us_ , what the Hell does that even mean?”

Steve rolls his eyes and takes the laptop from Bucky to continue their search for an apartment on his own. If Bucky didn’t want to take this seriously, it was fine by him, but he wasn’t going to end up in some hovel because of it.

With Steve picking up hours at the library and Bucky heading to Stark Industries’ DC branch every weekday from twelve to five; they’d managed to save up enough to cover the cost of an apartment. But money, as it turned out, was the easy part. It was picking a place to live that they both agreed on that was proving difficult. 

“You know, Nat and Clint picked the first place they found; no questions asked. What’s the matter with that?” Bucky whined, flopping back against his mattress.

Steve hums and continues scrolling. “Because Clint won the apartment in an illegal poker game.” Steve dead-pans. “They didn’t have much choice.”

“A technicality.”

Steve ignores Bucky in favor of dropping the laptop back on Bucky’s chest. “What about that one? Two miles off campus, parking garage for the bike, extra room for when Sam stops by…”

“More like for when you start snoring, and I’ve gotta run for cover.” Bucky retorts, sitting back up to look over Steve’s latest choice. He hums in interest and scrolls down the page. “Not far from the metro, either. Plenty of space…”

“And look at the windows, Buck! Looks right out over everything.” Steve adds, crawling into the space beside Bucky in order to look over his shoulder. “It’s got its own kitchen, too. No more community kitchens for us.”

Bucky side eyes Steve and smirks. “Appealing to my cooking skills ain’t gonna help you win this one, punk.”

“It’s not gonna hurt me, either.” Steve retorts.

Bucky scrolls further down the page before flicking through the pictures. The silence is making Steve antsy and his eyes flick from the screen to Bucky’s face a dozen times before he finally speaks up. “So, what do you think?”

The resting smile on Bucky’s face grows into a toothy grin. He turns to Steve and nods. “I love it.”

“You love it?” Steve repeats incredulously.

“I fuckin’ love it, Stevie.”

Steve and Bucky visit the apartment the next afternoon.

They move in three weeks later and although their décor options are limited, Steve’s cardboard shield manages to find a home above the front door, much to Sam’s dismay.

  
**PRESENT DAY**

The train station is a bustle of near constant activity. Steve’s ears are starting to ring as he and Bucky stand hand in hand in a sea of commuters, waiting for the train that will take them to Stark industries.

“You’re gonna get a real kick out of the stuff we’re doing, Stevie.” Bucky says, for about the millionth time since they woke up this morning. Steve can predict the next words coming out of Bucky’s mouth, but he just smiles and nods encouragingly because he knows how much this means to him. “Dr. Richards has us working with two of the _rarest_ metals in the whole world: adamantium _and_ vibranium.”

“Still can’t believe you’re working with Reed Richards, you’ve been looking up to that guy since…”

“ _Sophomore year_ , I know! He’s a genius Steve!” Bucky cries while the October-morning winds whip his out-grown hair around his face. Natasha had tried to get at his shoulder-length hair with clippers the last time she and Clint visited, but Steve had been adamant that if she cut off so much as an inch, she’d be spending the weekend sleeping on the stairwell.

“Speaking of which, I meant to text Sam. He had that interview at Aviation Technologies Institute with Dr. Danvers…” Steve reaches into his pants’ pocket with the hand that isn’t wrapped in Bucky’s. When he finds that pocket empty, he pats down the opposite pocket, then the ones in the back, then his jacket…

“Shit, Buck, I left my phone at the apartment…” Steve says. He and Bucky’s train is coming down the track, there’s no way he’ll make it home and back in time…

“Hey, it’s fine. I’ll wait for you in the lobby. You know how to get there on your own, don’t you?” Bucky says with a smile that warms Steve’s heart. Bucky’s determined not to let anything ruin this day.

“’Course I do. You got it. I’ll be there soon as I can.” Steve says quickly, dropping a peck on Bucky’s lips before heading towards home. 

He gets back to the room and silently thanks Erksine’s training for turning what would’ve been a 2 hour-walk freshman year of high school into a 15 minute sprint his senior year of college. He swings the door open and kicks aside the slippers Bucky had left abandoned in the middle of the entryway. _Just like I told him not to._ Steve thinks bitterly before running into the bedroom.

He picks his phone up off the nightstand and tucks it into his pocket before making his way back through the house. It begins buzzing while Steve takes the time to bring Bucky’s slippers back into the bedroom, _like Steve had asked earlier_. He figures it’s just Bucky letting him know he’s there and waiting, so he lets it go to voicemail.

Steve’s phone buzzes again on the way out the door. He pulls it out of his pocket and sees Sam’s name, which immediately throws Steve off. Sam’s got an interview with ATI at 8:00, and its 8:15, by all means Sam should be well on his way to his dream job...

“’Lo?” Steve says as he swings the door closed and moves to relock it.

“Steve?” Sam asks, panic in his voice. “Steve, man, you alright?”

Steve’s hand pauses with the key still jammed in the lock. “Yeah, Sam… I’m fine.” He says slowly. In the background he can hear a small commotion coming from Sam’s end of the line. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You aren’t on the train?” Sam asks. He almost sounds relieved

“No, no. I forgot my phone and had to run back to the apartment.” Steve explains, and he hears Sam let out the breath he must have been holding since Steve picked up. “Bucky went ahead, though.” Steve continues. “Why, what’s going on?” 

Sam’s line is quiet. Not completely silent, since Steve can still hear the chatter in the background, but Sam’s silent. It unnerves Steve, makes his blood run cold. Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong. Sam is never silent. Ever.

“I don’t want to be the one to tell you…” Sam says finally. “Are you near the apartment? A TV? Anything?”

“Yeah.” Steve says breathlessly. His hand flies back to the key and turns it, rushing into the living room and scrambling to the TV. “Yeah, I am. Sam, what’s going on? What happened on the train?”

“Steve, I… No one knows, it’s all speculation.” Sam says evasively. 

“Tell me, Sam!” Steve commands as he pushes the power on the TV. His heart pounds as he searches for the news station. He finds it before Sam has time to respond. 

_**DEVELOPING STORY** : TRAIN COLLISION LEAVES DOZENS DEAD, COUNTLESS WOUNDED_

“ _It’s entirely possible that the DC metro was victim of terrorist activity mere minutes ago._ ” The anchor says in a somber, droning voice. His tone matches his eyes: sympathetic, tired, and scared. “ _Two trains were high jacked and set on a collision course, causing the confirmed deaths of five passengers, and the serious wounds of countless others. Any survivors are being pulled from the smoking wreckage and transferred to MedStar. We go now to footage from inside one of these trains, moments before the collision._ ”

Steve’s heart can’t seem to decide whether it wants to hammer against his chest or stop beating all together, but he doesn’t know how much longer he can handle the stop-and-go ache beneath his ribs. He can hear Sam’s voice in his ear: “Talk to me. Let me know you’re alright.”

Steve stops breathing. Bucky’s on one of those trains.

“Steve…” Sam’s soothing voice tries again, and this time Steve swallows thickly and hums his comprehension. He hears what Sam’s saying, but he can’t muster the words to respond just yet.

“I’m coming home right now.” Sam says. “We’re going down there.” Steve sighs, his eyes glued to the screen. “Don’t move ‘til I get there.” As if he could move a single muscle.

And that’s exactly how Sam finds him: near catatonic in front of the television, blankly staring at the flashing images of the wreckage. Sam grips him by the shoulders and shakes him, hard, trying to snap him out of it.

“Steve, come on, man! The longer we’re here, the longer it takes to get to Bucky, alright? You hear me? We gotta move!”

It takes all of Sam’s strength to drag Steve away from the TV. He wraps one of Steve’s arms around him and guides him down the spiraling stairwell, since Steve doesn’t think he could make his world stop spinning even if he tried. Sam gets him into the front seat of his car and then runs around the front and climbs into the driver’s seat. He’d left the engine running.

Fifteen minutes into their silent drive, Sam looks over and Steve with the smallest of smiles before joking, “you’re a lot heavier than you look, you know.”

“ _Buck, what is all this?_ ”

“ _I made pancakes, homefries, bacon and eggs, and I expect you to eat every goddamn bit. It’s a big day, Stevie, so you’re gonna need a big breakfast!_ ”

Steve knows that Sam’s only trying his best to alleviate the tension, so he offers a solemn response.

“I had a big breakfast.”

***

The waiting room is a cacophony of sound, and Steve can’t begin to imagine what he’d be willing to give just so he could be back in his bed, Bucky by his side, safe and sound inside their home.

But he’s not home. And neither is Bucky. The nurse with kind, tired eyes had led both himself and Sam here, promising to return with any news on Bucky before dashing off through heavy wooden swinging doors. That had been two hours ago, and still no word.

Steve’s tired eyes move around the waiting room. There isn’t a vacant chair in the place, and still there are more people standing than there are sitting. Those who aren’t on their cellphones are sitting in complete silence, and Steve wonders if he looks half as haunted as everyone else in the room.

He must fall asleep because he’s roused by a buzzing sensation in his pocket. The room has emptied marginally, it’s not nearly as loud, and Sam is still sitting to his right attentively watching the news.

Steve pulls his phone from his pocket slowly, barely glimpsing at the name before answering.

“Natasha…”

“Jesus fucking Christ, thank God!” It’s Clint, apparently calling from Natasha’s phone. “Nat, I got him! Nat, I got Steve! Fucking shit, Rogers, scared us half to death. Where are you? Are you alright? Been trying to get a hold of you and Barnes since we heard!”

Steve’s jaw clenches involuntarily. “ _I’m_ fine, Clint.”

Clint hears the emphasis put on the word and pauses. Steve waits through the silence. “Good to hear…” He says slowly, like he’s afraid to say what’s next. “What about Tweedle-Dumb?”

Steve shakes his head, trying to muster up the words to tell him. “I don’t know.” He whimpers, fighting the burning tears in his eyes.

“What is it?” He hears Natasha ask in the background of Clint’s line. “Clint, what happened?”

Steve hears Clint whisper, “It’s Bucky,” before the line becomes garbled momentarily. When the crackling stops, Natasha’s on the line, and Steve assumes that the noise came from the scuffle for the phone. “What happened, Steve?” She asks all business.

Steve’s throat tightens. “He was on that train, Nat.” He whimpers. Sam has the good sense to keep his eyes on the TV, to pretend he doesn’t see the tears sliding down Steve’s cheeks.

“Start packing.” Natasha orders. It takes Steve a second to realize that she’s talking to Clint, not him. “We’ll be on the next flight into D.C.”

“There are no flights, they—.”

“We’ll find a way.”

“You don’t have to—.”

“Yes we do!” Clint yells over the line, though he sounds far away and short of breath, like he’s running around the room, packing things into a suitcase as quick as he can.

“Where are you now?” Natasha asks. She sounds so calm. Steve wishes his voice sounded half as controlled as hers.

“MedStar.” Steve says.

“Give us time. We’ll be there.” The call disconnects.

“Could I please see the family of James Barnes?”

Steve stuffs his phone into his pocket and nearly makes himself dizzy by springing out of his chair so fast, but Sam’s right there with a steadying hand on his shoulder. He and Sam make their way over to the nurse they’d spoken with earlier, each holding their breath.

“We’ve got him stabilized, you should know that.”

Steve and Sam release their breath in unison. “Can we see him?” Steve asks with his next breath.

The nurse looks to be at war with herself for a moment before nodding. “Follow me, please. I’m assuming you’d be,” she pauses to look into the file she has clutched in her hand, “Steven Grant Rogers?”

“Yes, ma’am. And this is my friend, Sam Wilson.” Steve affirms.

“Well, I’ll need Mr. Wilson’s I.D. before I can let him into the room, but you’re clear for entry Mr. Rogers. Says so in his records. Now, I want to prepare you, he’s banged up pretty bad. Nowhere near the worst we’ve seen today, but there’s a possibility that we’re going to have to remove his left arm…”

“What?” Steve cries. Sam freezes with his hand in his wallet, looking from Steve to the nurse in shock. “The Hell happened to it?”

The nurse turns to another page in her folder. “Bone damage appears to be beyond repair, any skin that was there was either burned severely or torn off all together, his…”

“I think we get the picture.” Sam interrupts while handing over his I.D. “Is this him?” He asks, pointing to the door they’ve stopped in front of.

The nurse hands Sam his license back and nods. “He’s unresponsive, but alive, which is more than I can say for a lot of folks.” With that, she departs, following a gurney down the hall and calling for an update on the patient riding on top of it.

Steve and Sam enter the room slowly. They’ve got a curtain pulled around the solitary bed in the room, and Steve can’t fight the overwhelming sense of dread that settles in his chest the moment his fingers graze the hanging fabric.

“Whatever’s on the other side of that curtain, man, we’ll get through it.” Sam says reassuringly.

Steve nods and draws the curtain back, whimpering at the sight that’s waiting for him. “God, Buck…”

His dark hair is matted to his face with sweat and blood. The doctors seem to have stitched up any gaping wounds, but minor scratches continue to bleed on almost every visible part of him. His left arm lies uselessly at his side, wrapped lightly in bandages, while his right arm lay bruised and battered across his chest.

“Shit.” Sam sighs, pulling up a chair beside the bed for Steve to sit in. Steve collapses into it and reaches for Bucky’s hand. It’s still warm. As warm as it was when he held it tight last night, while they drifted off to sleep, with no idea about where tomorrow, this day, would take them.

Steve’s still holding on to Bucky’s hand when he hears a commotion start up in the hall. He releases Bucky’s limp fingers and wanders to the door, tilting his head to hear the voices down the way.

“No, lady, you don’t get it. Do you even know who I am?”

“I do, sir, but I need to see some I.D. before I let you in there.”

“I.D.? Are they serious? Google me, you’ll get about a thousand pictures of this handsome mug, I assure you.”

“She looks pretty serious to me, Tony. Why don’t you have your I.D. with you?”

“I’m sorry! I forgot to grab my wallet somewhere between A) finding out my friend’s in the hospital and B) calling for a jet to fly us here. How could I possibly have forgotten something as astronomically important as a wallet, I wonder?”

“Sir, we understand, it’s just—.”

“He’s fine.” Steve interjects as he steps out from behind the wall. The nurse turns to look at him, and behind her Tony breathes a dramatic sigh of relief. To his right is Bruce, looking rumpled but alert. Steve wanders down the hall, leaving Sam with Bucky.

“You happy now? Are we good here?” Tony asks in a clipped tone.

The nurse looks between Steve and Tony before relenting. “Stay with him.” She says sternly. “I’ll be checking.”

“I’ll be looking forward to seeing you again.” Tony says flippantly, bowing to the nurse before shuffling past her. Bruce has the common decency to thank her before following suit, showing her his own I.D. on the way by. “How is he?” Tony asks when the three of them fall into step together on the way back to Bucky’s room.

Steve’s lack of response and stony expression must have told Tony all he needed to know, because without another word he reaches behind himself and digs into the main pocket of the backpack strapped over his shoulders. He pulls out a box of cupcakes and hands them over to Steve.

“Thought you might need comfort food, or… whatever.” Tony says carelessly, like he’s trying to pretend that this isn’t his way of expressing sympathy and compassion. Like this isn’t kindness.

Steve lets him believe that. He just takes the box from Tony’s hand with silent thanks. He peeks into the box and sees that they’re all he and Bucky’s favorite: chocolate with chocolate, with more chocolate in the middle.

“Figured he’s gonna want some when he wakes up.” Tony explains. “Which he will.”

Steve closes the box with a small smile. The kid grows on you, after all. He really does.

***

When Pepper arrives, it’s with tear stained cheeks and Tony’s I.D. in her hands.

“How did you get that?” Tony asks, though he’s completely ignored in favor of Steve, whom Pepper rushes to the moment she walks through the door way.

“I came as soon as I heard.” She whispers in a strangled voice before releasing Steve from her grasp. “I tried calling everyone, but I could only get a hold of Thor. He’s on his way, Steve. He said something about being held up at the… the _bifrost_? And I was so distraught I completely forgot to ask if he wanted me to send for a ride, but—.”

“Pepper.” Steve interjects firmly, putting an end to her rambling. “Thank you for coming.”

She smiles a watery smile and nods. “Any time.”

“No but really, how did you get my I.D.?”

***

A nurse personally escorts Thor to Bucky’s room. Steve can see why. No one in their right mind would deny a six-foot-four man the right to see his injured friend, especially not one wearing head-to-toe armor and a freaking _cape_.

“He—um—he says he’s with you? He doesn’t have any I.D., but…” The nurse says nervously, her eyes never leaving Thor’s intimidating presence.

“He is.” Steve assures her, and doesn’t fault her one bit when she hastily nods and bolts down the hall.

“Thor, you look…” Pepper’s eyes narrow as she struggles for the right word, “sharp.” She tries.

“Literally.” Sam says, eying the pointed edges of Thor’s armor.

“I had not the time to change.” Thor says, though his eyes rest on Bucky. “Heimdall could only keep the bifrost open for so long.” He explains in a grave voice.

Everyone in the room exchanges the same confused glance, but only Tony vocalizes their thoughts. “What?” He blurts.

Thor blinks twice and looks away from Bucky, only to shake his head and put on a brighter expression. “I only mean that my friend, Heimdall, only had so much gas and the bifrost, of course, was just _full_ of traffic, and it was just very terrible.”

“Sounds it.” Tony grumbles, clearly still confused but willing to let it go. Steve makes a mental note to Google ‘bifrost’ later.

***

The still silence of Bucky’s room is broken when a thump overhead jolts the group out of their solemn reveries. Six heads slowly rise to look at the ceiling, particularly the vent which is rumbling ominously overhead.

“Should we call maintenance?” Bruce asks.

“Take it from me, that’s not a mechanical problem.” Tony says. He can’t keep the interest out of his voice while he squints at the vent.

With a few more ominous bangs and creeks, the vent grid drops from the ceiling and Clint and Natasha fall gracelessly, landing in a heap on the linoleum floor.

“And here I was thinking Thor made a grand entrance.” Tony says, arching an eyebrow.

Steve looks at his watch—he’d spoken with Clint and Natasha around 10, and here they are at the hospital at 3 PM. With public flights around the country at a standstill, Steve is left wondering how they managed to make a 40 hour drive in 6 hours, a thought which he vocalizes as soon as Clint and Natasha are on their feet.

“I called in a few favors.” Natasha says cryptically while dusting off the sleeves of her jacket.

“And you couldn’t use the front door, because…you were checking the ventilation system? Making sure our dear Barnes is only breathing the best air DC has to offer?” Tony muses.

Clint laughs and shakes his head. “Got to about Ohio before we realized we left our ID’s in Cal. Nurses said no one else was getting in here without proper identification, so we had to get a little creative.”

“Well, at least we know who we can foot the bill to if they find our why their air ducts look like a war zone.” Tony says, kicking the dented vent grate into the corner of the room.

***

They wait in a near-silent vigil around Bucky’s bed, watching for any sign of life, but so far, all they have to cling to was the steady rise and fall of Bucky’s chest. For the others, it seems to be enough to put their minds to rest, but for Steve it just isn’t enough. The minutes dissolve into hours, and before he knows it the sun is setting outside of Bucky’s window, and there’s a nurse standing in the doorway, informing them that this many people can’t stay in the room.

“We’ll be right down the hall.” Sam assures Steve while he lingers in the doorway. The others have already wandered towards the waiting room, or in Clint’s case, the nearest vending machine. Steve nods his understanding and his thanks, and then returns to watching Bucky’s face for anything…anything at all.

The steady beeping of the heart monitor begins to lull him to sleep, and despite Steve’s best efforts he can’t keep his eyes from drooping or his head from hanging, and if he tries hard enough, he can convince himself that behind his closed eyelids, he and Bucky are back at their apartment, and it’s a sleepy Sunday night, and they’ve got class in the morning, and he can’t miss it…

Steve is startled awake by a sudden commotion in the room. Still-half asleep and fully confused, he looks around the room to find that it’s not half as empty as it had been when he’d nodded off. There are white coats pacing about the room, and they’re all speaking in murmurs and whispers, and Bucky’s sitting up in bed with a confused look on his face, and…

_Bucky’s sitting up in bed…_

“Bucky!” Steve exclaims, rushing to cling to Bucky’s body, which looks so small in the bed they’ve got him tucked into. But Steve can’t get his arms around him because he’s got half the doctors in the room grabbing at him from all angles, jerking him towards the door, not letting them anywhere near Bucky. “Lemme go!” Steve growls, his eyes still on Bucky and the confused look on his oldest friend’s face. “Lemme talk to him! Bucky!” He cries again, willing Bucky to tell these good-for-nothing doctors to let him go, to let Steve hold him.

But Bucky’s face shows no emotion, no inclination to speak on Steve’s behalf. 

“Bucky, come on!” Steve yells, still fighting against the doctor’s grip, struggling even as they drag him closer to the doorway.

Finally, Bucky speaks. It’s just not the words Steve wants to hear.

“Who the Hell is Bucky?”

***

“Retrograde amnesia is…incredibly common in a lot of high impact trauma victims.” The doctor explains in a measured voice. Steve wants to strangle him. “And while his procedural and semantic memory seems to be intact, his episodic memory has been severely altered.”

“And for the people who didn’t go to med school, that means what?” Clint asks with a clipped tone. Steve smiles slightly. Very slightly.

Bruce cuts the doctor off before he can answer. “It means he can remember his daily functions and how things in the world work, it’s not like he’s a child or anything, but…” Bruce’s eyes flick to Steve before returning to the floor, “He doesn’t remember the events of his life.”

Steve swallows hard before asking, “His whole life? Or just parts of it?” He asks the doctor, only because Bruce can’t possibly know the answer.

The doctor flips through more papers on the chart, his expression grim. Steve wishes he hadn’t asked. “I’m sorry to say that of the preliminary tests we’ve run thus far, it seems as though the patient has lost all of his memories beginning from childhood onward. He can’t remember his own nickname, nor can he remember,” the doctor pauses and drops the pages he’s holding and lets them fall back against the clipboard, “acquaintances or relationships.” He finishes with his eyes on Steve. “I’m very sorry.”

“Shit…” Clint exhales. Tony rises from his seat and puts his hands behind his head, pacing the rows of chairs. Pepper’s lip trembles as she passes Thor a tissue from her purse, which he blows into loudly. Natasha remains as impassive as ever, but her eyes look just _that_ much harder, like she’s working to remain neutral. Sam rubs his hands over his tired face before looking to Steve.

Steve can hear the sound of Bucky’s heart monitor beeping away steadily from down the hall, which Steve thinks is awfully funny, because while Bucky’s heart beats away, it feels as though his has stopped cold in his chest.

**TWO WEEKS LATER**

The arm is a whole other story.

Steve is in the room when he hears Bucky consent to being one of the first to undergo prototypical prosthetic limb surgery. According to Bucky’s doctor, two other trials were successful, though completely unorthodox—involving a paralyzed patient and the addition of iron-clad mobile claws that could act as limbs and a man with a bone disease whose entire skeleton was replaced with metal so as eliminate the problem of bone deterioration.

Steve had his doubts, but Bucky—or as he was now referred to—James, was adamant.

“Rather cause a little ruckus in a metal detector than try to get by with one arm.” He’d reasoned, and for a glimmering moment, Steve believed that maybe his Bucky wasn’t lost.

Bucky undergoes the 24 hour operation, and Sam and Steve sit in the emergency room side by side, trying their best to remain comfortable in the sterile plastic chairs.

The next morning, Steve wakes up to Sam shaking a package of vending machine Pop-Tarts in front of his face. “I got you some breakfast, if you eat that sort of thing.” Same drops the package in the chair next to Steve and takes a seat. “I always took you as a 12-Eggs-and-a-Protein-Shake kinda guy, but I figured I’d ask…”

Steve gratefully wolfs down his breakfast, and just as he’s wiping the crumbs from his jeans, Bucky’s surgeon comes through the swinging doors.

It’s a success.

Steve and Sam cautiously enter the room only to find Bucky fast asleep in his medical bed. His metal arm glints in the harsh lighting, and for a moment Steve’s completely thrown by the stark contrast of metal and flash, but after a while he adjusts.

It’s incredible technology—steel plates crafted and cut to perfectly replicate an arm. In fact, if Steve didn’t know any better, he’d think it was just a tightly bound sleeve around Bucky’s old arm.

It’s beautiful, just like the rest of him.

**FIVE WEEKS LATER**

James Buchanan Barnes returns to the apartment that he and Steven Grant Rogers share on 45 Liberty Road on November 20th. They tell him this is his home. And he believes them.

He just doesn’t remember it.

He lingers in the doorway for a minute, his eyes scanning every inch of the apartment that he can see. After spending nearly a month and a half in the hospital, a change of scenery is nice. But it doesn’t feel like coming home.

Nothing does.

Steven Grant Rogers a.k.a. “ _Steve_ ” had brought him to Brooklyn, New York a few days ago, hoping to jog a few of Bucky’s memories. They visited S. Lee Elementary School and the S.H.I.E.L.D. School District. They went to his childhood home. They visited Steven’s mother, who had hugged him so tight he thought he might choke.

James Buchanan Barnes returned to Washington, D.C. with only the foggiest memories of a bowler hat and a nagging inclination that Sarah Rogers didn’t always look so frail and small.

Steven Rogers seemed both sad and excited that he had noticed. “You’re not wrong, Buck.” He’d said.

“My name is James.” He’d replied reflexively.

Any trace of happiness on Steven Rogers’s face faded immediately.

James didn’t like disappointing Steven. Steven assured him that it wasn’t his fault, that Steven doesn’t blame him, and that he’s not upset, but James can tell it gets to him. Sometimes, when he pretended to be asleep in his hospital bed so the doctors would stop harassing him about memories he didn’t have, he could hear Steven on the phone, talking to someone…

“ _He looked right at me…and he didn’t even know me._

James had closed his eyes that night and willed himself to remember Steven Grant Rogers. There was something there…something just out of Bucky’s reach…

He’d fallen asleep just when he’d felt he was getting somewhere: a slingshot in his hand… a boy in the dirt…

He woke up the next morning with no recollection of a slingshot of any kind, nor of a boy in the dirt.

But now, as he looks around the room and hears the rattling, banging sound of Steven Rogers lugging James’s belongings back up the staircase—he thinks this might be the place that holds the answers he’s been fighting for.

Steven stumbles through the doorway with two suitcases in each hand and James turns to smile at him. The place inexplicably feels more like home with Steve inside it.

**ONE MONTH LATER**

“How about this one, do you remember this?”

Steve hands Bucky a picture from Bucky’s own 9th birthday. The glossy, somewhat faded image captures Bucky smiling toothily at the camera with frosting from his lips to his chin, Steve by his side wearing a bright red party hat, and Morita with his hands covered in cake and sprinkles.

“His name was James, too.” Bucky says slowly, pointing to Morita. “And there was another one…”

“Falsworth, yeah, I’ve got a picture of him in here somewhere…” Steve starts flipping quickly through the pages of the photo album he’d take from his mother’s house during their last visit. “Here we go, this was our sixth grade graduation!” Steve hands over the picture of himself, Bucky, and the Howling Commandos arm-in-arm moments before they went on stage.

Bucky slowly takes the picture from Steve’s hands, looking at it with wide eyes. “…Jaques…and Gabe, too.” He whispers softly, “and…shit there’s Bam-Bam.”

“Dum-Dum.”

“I knew that. I knew it didn’t sound right. Dum-Dum…and that goddamn hat.” Bucky slides a metal finger across he and Steve’s younger faces. “And that’s us…” Steve hums in confirmation. “We were so small.”

“ _I_ was small, you were normal.” Steve corrects.

“You were perfect.” Bucky says softly, almost like he hadn’t meant to. Steve’s heart clenches regardless.

“I’ve got a couple more albums, if you wanna look through those, too.” Steve offered. Sometimes Bucky got overwhelmed looking through old pictures, but today seemed like a good day.

“Yeah, I think I do…” Bucky says, still staring reverently at the picture in his hand.

“Gimme a second, they’re in the kitchen.” Steve says before turning to head that way. Bucky’s small voice stops him from going too far.

“I want you to start calling me Bucky again.” He says quietly. “We know a lot of James. There’s too many of ‘em. I don’t like it.”

“ _James is such a boring ol’ name! Why couldn’t I have been Blaze or something… Ma really dropped the ball on that one, Stevie, I’m tellin’ ya…”_

_“Because you’re Bucky.”_

_“You’re darn right I am! And don’t you forget it!_ ”

“You never did.” Steve says, smiling as he turns back toward the kitchen. Progress is slow, but it’s still progress. “Be right back, Buck.”

**TWO MONTHS LATER**

Steve comes home to Bucky standing over the stove. He’s got three pots going, each boiling, giving off the aroma of what’s sure to be the best meal Steve’s eaten all week. “Whatcha makin’, Buck?” He asks as he wanders towards the bedroom to change out of his paint splattered clothes.

Bucky looks over his shoulder and offers Steve a small smile before turning away again. “Got some corn, some green beans, and some peas. Steak’s in the oven. You hungry?”

Steve pauses in the middle of the hall. “Peas?”

“Uh…yeah? You got somethin’ against peas?” Bucky asks, poking his head down the hall to look at Steve.

_“Where’d ya learn to shoot like that?”_

_“It started when my ma tried to make me eat peas. Peas, Steve, you ever eat a pea before? You’re lucky…”_

Steve shakes his head and shrugs. “Nah, not me. You keep it up, I’m just gonna change.”

By time Steve’s washed up and changed into his stay-at-home sweatpants and a t-shirt, Bucky’s already set the table and started eating. Steve joins him and digs in immediately, savoring every bite of the home-cooked meal.

A gagging noise across the table surprises him. He looks up to see Bucky spitting green mush back onto his plate before frantically wiping at his tongue with a napkin.

“Aw, yuck!” Bucky moans, glaring at his plate. “Those’re nasty!”

Hope springs in Steve’s chest. “What are?”

“These!” Bucky points accusatorily at the peas. “I fuckin’ _hate_ peas!”

Steve smiles. “Yeah you do.”

Bucky looks up at him with a look of dawning comprehension on his face. “I’ve hated them since I was a kid. Since I was like…four, or something, right?”

Steve nodded feverishly. “Yeah, and you used to shoot them at—”

“Rebecca!” Bucky cried, springing from his seat so fat that it topped over with a loud thud. “That’s how I learned to shoot so good! And I told you about it! I told you about it after James Schmidt—”

“Jay, Buck…”

“Jackass Schmidt, it was they shoulda called him…after Jay Schmidt kicked you around on the playground!” Buck continued excitedly.

Steve rises slowly from his seat. “You remember that?” He asks tentatively.

Bucky nods emphatically. “Who’d forget the first time they talked to their first crush, you big goon.” Bucky says with an easy laugh.

“First crush?” Steve repeats, speaking despite the fact that his heart’s making its best effort to crawl out of his throat. This is the closest he and Bucky have come to discussing the nature of their relationship since he’d brought Bucky home almost four months ago.

“As if you didn’t know.” Bucky says flippantly. “But apparently I got over it, eh?”

Steve swallows his heart and steels himself for what’s to come. “No, Buck, I don’t think you did.”

Bucky’s smile falters, “What’s that?”

Steve takes a big breath and continues. “Buck…you and I… _we_ , I mean…We’ve been dating since senior year of high school.” He says carefully. 

Bucky blinks quickly before laughing. “Very funny, Rogers.”

“I ain’t kiddin’, Buck.” Steve says forcefully. “We went to Prom together. It’s why we came to school together. We got this apartment so we wouldn’t have to worry about sexiling Sam just because we couldn’t keep our hands off each other for one goddamn second.” Steve takes another gulp of air and tries to still his shaking voice. “I love you, Buck. And you loved me.”

Steve watches as emotions pass over Bucky’s face one after another. Shock. Amusement. Confusion. And finally…a smile.

“We’re dating?” He finally asks.

Steve laughs. He can’t help himself. “Four year anniversary coming up this April.” He admits.

Bucky lets out a laugh. “Thank God!”

Steve blushes. “Do you remember anything?”

Bucky continues to laugh while he nods. “I thought it was just me having pervy thoughts about my best friend, for a while. Come to find out they’re _memories_? Oh boy, have I got _vivid_ memories of you, pal.” His laughter dies and his mouth twists into a devious smirk that Steve’s missed so, so, _so_ much.

Steve tilts his chin upwards and returns to smile. “Care to make any new ones?”

Bucky laughs low and easy, just how Steve remembers. “It’s like you read my mind, babe.”

***

“Learned something interesting in math today.” Bucky says conversationally while they grub out on the couch eating day-old Chinese food.

Steve and Bucky had taken their senior year off in order to recover, but they’ve since returned to finish their final year at Marvel. Steve’s got himself a job lined up working in the Smithsonian American Art Museum, while Bucky’s been offered a permanent job with Stark Industries’s DC division.

Things were back to normal, and Steve is content with normal. He’s over the moon with normal.

“Alright, I’ll bite. What did you learn that was so interesting?”

“Well, we started learnin’ ‘bout lines.” Bucky explains before stuffing his face with a chicken finger. “’Bout ‘ow many dif’ren’ lines der are.” He continues, spraying crumbs all over the couch.

Steve’s nose crinkles in disgust, though he can’t help but find the stretch of Bucky’s cheeks adorable as they struggle to keep all that food in his mouth. “Why do you care about lines?”

“Glad you asked.” Bucky says after he swallows his bite. “’Cause at first I didn’t really give a damn. Lines are lines, you know? They got a start and an end. Whoop-dee-doo, you know?”

“Sure…”

“Just stay with me here, Stevie.” Bucky reaches over with his metal arm and plucks a chicken wing from one of the boxes between them before continuing. “So there I am, willing the Good God Above to strike me dead when Professor McCoy drops some serious facts on me: Not all lines gotta end.” Steve’s eyebrows draw together, but he lets Bucky go on without interruption. “Line _segments_ gotta end. They got these little dots at the start and the end. Points, or whatever. They end, you see?” 

Steve nods because he can remember learning this back in sophomore geometry: a class that Bucky had treated as nap time. “Where are you going with this, Buck?”

Bucky throws a piece of pork at him. “I’m getting’ there!” He whines like a petulant child. “So you’ve got line segments, and then there’s these neat little things called _rays_.”

“They start in one place, and then go on forever.” Steve recalls.

“Don’t steal my thunder, Einstein.” Bucky chastises. “But you’re right. The things go on _forever_. Never gotta stop. No end in sight. But I wasn’t too interested in what Peterson had to say ‘bout that. I liked what he said about just plain ol’ lines.

“He says lines don’t start anywhere, and they don’t end anywhere either. They just keep going and going in both directions. They don’t even get a fancy name or nothin’, they’re just _lines_.”

“What’s this—.”

“It’s about us.”

“Us?” Steve repeats. The forkful of rice he’s got in his hand freezes in mid-air between his plate and his mouth.

Bucky hums in affirmation. “You and me are always talking about “ _the end of the line_ ”.It’s our thing. Perhaps “ _the end of the line_ ” will be our alwa—.”

“Don’t you dare quote that pretentious—.”

“ _LIKE_ I was saying,” Bucky says firmly, waiting for Steve to shut his mouth and listen before continuing. “We always say that, but now all this new knowledge’s got me thinking: why’s there gotta be an end?”

Whatever train of thought Bucky’s taking, Steve’s certainly not on it. If anything, he’s still standing at the station with his pants around his ankles. “What do you mean?”

Bucky chews his lip for a moment before quickly moving the take-out boxes from the couch to the coffee table. When Steve makes to argue, Bucky hushes him. When the couch has been sufficiently cleared of all Chinese-American delicacies, Bucky faces Steve once again.

“I’m sayin’ that my life with you’s been kinda like a line, you know?” He explains while his hands fidget in his lap. Steve notices this immediately. Bucky never fidgets. “Before I’d even met you, I wanted you. Wanted someone just like you. You and me go way back to before we were ever “you and me”, you know? We go back forever.

“And now we’re here, and I don’t know about you or nothing, but I’m not really seeing much of an end to this line. We could go on forever, too. We don’t gotta end, either.” Bucky’s eyes drop from Steve to his hands, which are still restless in his lap.

“What are you trying to say, Buck?” Steve asks.

“I’m trying to… God, ain’t it obvious?” Bucky grumbles. “I just want to be with you forever. _Forever_ , forever.”

Bucky eyes finally meet his again and he looks so nervous that Steve hates himself a little bit for still not understanding where Bucky’s trying to go with this. “Bucky…”

“Marry me.”

Oh.

_Oh._  



	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the darkest night hour,  
> I'll search through the crowd.  
> Your face is all that I see.  
> I'll give you everything.  
> Baby, love me lights out.
> 
> _XO_ // Beyoncé

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW IT'S DONE.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's offered their comments and support and followed this mess through to the end. I hope the ending does it justice!!
> 
> I LOVE YOU GUYS! THANK YOU SO MUCH!! I'D LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU, ALL YOUR COMMENTS ARE SO APPRECIATED.
> 
> Also, any one who's liked this story is welcomed to check out my other Stucky AU [Leap Year](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2592326/chapters/5772200)!!!
> 
> NOW LET'S START THE SHOW.

It’s been nearly a year and a half since Steve stared at Bucky from across their ratty old second-hand couch with a lump of rice stuck in his throat and a proposal hanging in the air between them, since Steve had said “ _Yes, Jesus, Bucky, of course!_ ” so many times his throat was raw with the words, since Bucky pulled a ring from his pocket and slipped in on Steve’s finger, making Steve the luckiest guy in the whole wide world.

They decide to finish school before they make any plans or set any dates in regards to the wedding. In fact, they decide it best to keep it to themselves whilst they complete their studies, so their friends are kept in the dark about their impending nuptials.

That is, of course, until Sam reaches across the table at dinner one night and jerks Steve’s hand into his face for further inspection. After studying the silver band on his finger, he lets out an uproarious laugh before returning to his dinner.

But Sam’s been sworn to secrecy, and when the others come to visit, Steve tucks the ring into his sock drawer and waits until the coast is clear before slipping it back on. It’s not that he doesn’t want his friends to know, or that he enjoys keeping secrets from them, but he knows that once they hear the news, there’s no way in Hell he and Bucky will be allowed to finish their education in peace.

Any time that Steve’s resolve so much as wavers, Bucky is quick to remind him about how much Pepper loves planning, and Steve immediately blanches at the thought of Pepper chasing after him with color-coded seating charts and revenue selections and menu options.

Finally, when May rolls around and with it comes their degrees—Steve’s in Studio Art with a concentration in illustration, and Bucky’s in Engineering with a concentration in Bio-Tech and Chemical Engineering, Steve and Bucky hold a small get-together at their apartment and break the news to their friends and family.

Steve tries to be gentle. He begins with a general, “Thank you all for being here. This is a huge day for us,” which segways into, “Bucky and I actually have some big news for you, which we’ve been holding on to for a while now,” and just when Steve’s ready to dive into how guilty he feels for keeping this from them, Bucky cuts straight across.

“Stevie and I are getting hitched!” He cries, raising his champagne flute in one hand, and using the other to lift Steve’s left hand into the air and show off his ring to the stunned room.

Sarah Rogers screams so loud that Clint has to take out his hearing aid. Tony howls with laughter and shakes the champagne bottle he’s been holding before uncapping it and letting it burst all over the (freshly cleaned, mind you) floor. Steve can see the itineraries writing themselves in Pepper’s head. Rebecca rolls her eyes and mutters, “Of course,” before begrudgingly falling into the applause alongside Bruce and Thor. Natasha’s smirking, but Steve can tell that she’s _pissed_ that she hadn’t figured it out first, and he isn’t at all surprised to hear (from Clint) that she won’t be speaking to them for a week.

Pepper, as expected, shows up at Steve’s front door the morning after the party. With her she carries a manila folder stuffed to the brim with neatly stacked papers. She barely spares Steve a courteous hello before settling into his couch and dropping her paper work onto his coffee table.

“So I’ve been doing some research as well as my own independent thought, and here’s what I’ve come up with: We shoot for September—not to hot, not to cold, and you skip out on the chaos that comes with everyone and their mother getting married in August. Now, I’ve looked into every available venue in the DC area, and I’ve ranked them based on customer satisfaction as well as aesthetic pleasure and maximum number of occupants. I’ve looked ahead and every place on the list has vacancies in September, but we’ve got to act fast.” She rehearses without pausing for breath.

“Um, Pepper?” Steve says tentatively.

“Yuh-huh?” Pepper asks cheerfully, looking up from her work with a bright smile.

“Bucky and I were thinking…maybe we could have the wedding in _Brooklyn_.” Steve wishes the floor would just swallow him whole, but he also thinks that the people in 3B wouldn’t appreciate that very much. It looks like Pepper stayed up all night working on this, and he hates to see it all go to waste.

But Pepper doesn’t look disappointed. In fact, she looks downright delighted as she turns and reaches into her purse and pulls out another stack of papers, labeled ‘ _Brooklyn_ ’ on a fluorescent sticky note. “No problem! I thought you might say that, so I did some more digging.” She says happily, sliding over on the couch and patting the seat next to her while packing up the DC locations. “Come, sit, we’ve got work to do.” She says brusquely.

Steve gapes at the wonder that is Pepper Potts before resigning himself to take a seat beside her and follow her color-coded lead.

Bucky comes through the door three hours later, and by then Steve’s narrowed it down to three options for the wedding location, four possible reception revenues, and a general idea on what he’d like on the menu. They haven’t even touched the décor or the seating arrangements as Bucky kicks off his boots in the doorway and wanders over to the couch.

***

The date they settle on is September 7th. ( _“The day we met.” “Seventeen years ago.” “More like seventy.”_ ) They agree to get married in the same church that their parents dragged them to every Sunday morning from birth until college.

The location of the reception dinner comes highly recommended by Tony: it’s a posh private hotel that Howard Stark, and by extension Tony, and by further extension, Tony’s _friends_ are welcomed to use at their leisure, no questions asked. Tony calls it a perk, Steve calls it excessive, and Pepper calls to make the reservations.

Over the next week, Steve and Bucky’s phones are constantly chiming with notifications, mostly from Pepper asking “ **this** or _this_ ”; referring to everything from forks to the type of wood on the dance floor. During a particularly memorable instance Pepper interrupted a rather stellar evening of sex with sixteen consecutive calls to their land line after being ignored on their cellphones, all just to ask if Steve would be interested in having Paul McCartney play their wedding, claiming she had a few favors to cash in on.

The answer had been a resounding “ _no_ ”, and the next morning, Bucky saw fit to disconnect the house phone.

When planning comes to an end, it’s a weight off Steve’s shoulders. Pepper arrives to the apartment with a binder three inches thick with color coded tabs labeling every meticulous detail. 

Before she hands it over, she clutches it to her chest and squares her jaw, narrowing her eyes at Bucky and Steve. “This is some of my finest work. If you lose this, I will kill one of you, and frame the other one for murder. And I’ll get away with it. Am I understood?” Bucky and Steve both nod in unison and Pepper hands them the (unsurprisingly heavy) binder.

Steve brings it with him the next time he and Bucky visit his mother. She eagerly grabs for it before Steve can properly pull it out of his messenger bag, and immediately she rushes to the dining room table and begins leafing through the pages, “ _Ooh!_ ing” and “ _Ahh!_ ing” at Pepper’s work. Steve and Bucky take seats on either side of her and content themselves by watching her study the details. She gets as far at the reception hall before she pauses on the page. 

“Oh.” She says softly, deflating slightly in her seat. “Oh, but of course you’d want to…obviously…”

“What?” Steve asks.

“Oh, it’s nothing Steven. Nothing at all. This looks lovely!” She says, but Steve can hear the strain in her voice, so he rests his hand over hers before she can flip the page.

“What is it, Ma? You don’t like it?” He asks.

“Gosh, no, Steven, it’s gorgeous! You deserve it, you both do. My boys deserve all the best.” She assures.

“Come on, Ma, you know better than to think you can get away with lyin’ to us.” Bucky says, nudging her gently with his elbow. “Let us know what you don’t like and we’ll change it—color coding be damned.”

Sarah shifts uncomfortably in her seat, firmly shaking her head. “No, I was just being stupid. It’s nothing. Now will you please—.”

“Ma, come on.” Steve pushes.

“Alright! Alright! Who taught you boys to be so stubborn anyhow?” Ms. Rogers sighs, though she knows she need only look in a mirror to find an answer to that question. “I just thought…” She purses her lips and restarts, “I was going to ask if you might consider having the reception…here?” She asks softly.

“Here?” Steve blurts, taking a quick check of his surroundings just to be sure that they were, in fact, sitting in his childhood home. “The apartment?” He confirms.

His mother shrugs her slim shoulders and nods. “I thought we might be able to push the living room set into your old room, seeing as how there’s nothing in there but your father’s old things. The living room ought to be big enough for dancing; the wood floors just need a little polishing. I could cook, even!” She offers.

Steve studies her face before hanging his head. “Ma, I know you mean all the best, but…”

“This is a big day for you; too, we’re not trying to inconvenience you. You oughtta take the day off! Relax!” Bucky says, reading Steve’s mind.

Ms. Rogers shakes her head firmly. “That’s all I’ve done for the past five years. I’ve relaxed and I’ve rested and I’ve had my fair share of alone time.” She says firmly, none of the hesitance from earlier in her voice. “I miss my boys.” She says with watery eyes. “And I miss the sound of a full house. I even miss the way the Odinson boy used to smash our glasses when he finished his drink.” She says with a laugh. “Just…promise you’ll consider it. For me?”

When Steve and Bucky get home that night, they play _Rock, Paper, Scissors_ to decide who has the unfortunate task of telling Pepper that the plans have changed.

Bucky choses rock (as always) and Steve chooses paper (as always) and Pepper takes the news with all the grace that Steve should have known she would, and she schedules to meet with Steve’s mother this coming weekend to draw up a new plan.

***

The day before the wedding, Steve wakes up to a flurry of kisses being peppered on his face, and when he finds the strength to crack open his eyes and face the day, Bucky’s are staring right back at him: bright and blue and brilliant. Short hairs fall over his forehead and into his eyes, but since chopping most of it off for the wedding, it’s become much more manageable.

“It’s your last day as a free man, Stevie, so if you’re having second thoughts you better back out now.” Bucky says, dropping more kisses that slowly bring Steve to full consciousness.

“Please, if I was gonna run, I’da done it when I found out you killed my hamster in third grade and blamed it on Falsworth.” Steve says with a laugh. “You still owe me a hamster.”

Bucky scrunches his nose and tilts his head in thought. “How about a dog?”

Steve nods agreeably. “Yellow lab?”

“Chocolate.” Bucky challenges.

“Excuse me, whose hamster was murdered? Who gets to decide what we replace him with?”

Just as Bucky’s gearing up to fight, they’re interrupted by the sound of the front door swinging open. They both tense and wait for what’s coming.

“Burglar?” Steve whispers.

“Ax murderer?” Bucky replies.

It’s neither a burglar nor an ax murderer. It’s—

“What, did you not get my text?” Natasha asks, staring at them disbelievingly. “I told you I was coming, don’t look so surprised.”

Steve rolls over and checks his phone. True to her word, there’s a text from Natasha.

**NATASHA:** Mission alert. Extraction imminent. Meet at curb. 

“What the Hell’s this supposed to mean?” Steve asks, showing the text to Bucky while Natasha strides over to their closet and flings the double doors open.

“It _means_ we’ve got shit to do. In case you’ve forgotten: you’ve got final fittings for your tuxes at three, a rehearsal dinner you _might_ want to consider attending at five, and you’ve got to be back at the hotel by 10 tonight if Bucky’s gonna get his eight hours. And I’m not putting up with him tomorrow if he doesn’t, so I think it’s in your best interest to get up.” She answers plainly. 

Bucky pulls a face and mocks her behind her back while she continues pulling his and Steve’s suits off the rack and folding them over her arm. “Look decent. I told Clint to leave the car running, and he’s operating under the illusion that he can make it from here to Brooklyn with half a tank of gas.”

Steve and Bucky do as she says, not that they have much of a choice. As they mournfully pull on the first clean clothes they can get their hands on, the impatient tapping of Nat’s boots on the linoleum floor is audible all the way from their kitchen. By the time they manage to pack their overnight bags and look presentable, she’s brewed two cups of coffee, which Bucky makes the mistake of assuming are for him and Steve. Natasha arches a pristine eyebrow at his outstretched hand before laughing and turning on her heel, leading the way to the car.

As it so happens, the second cup is for Clint, who, in a matter of ten minutes, has managed to fall asleep with his forehead pressed into the steering wheel, tinted sunglasses hanging crookedly off the bridge of his nose. Natasha holds the coffee under his nose until he grumbles his way into consciousness, gratefully taking the cup from her hand.

“Black?” He asks, taking his first sip, which looks more like a massive gulp from where Steve’s sitting.

“As your soul.” Natasha responds, settling into the passenger’s seat before resting her feet on the dashboard.

“You get me, Tasha.” Clint says reverently, downing the rest of his cup in one go. After savoring the taste for a moment, he quickly puts the car in drive before peeling away from the curb, sending Bucky and Steve tumbling around in the back seat. Natasha, Steve notices, looks completely unfazed as she grips to the safety handle above her window, sipping at her coffee nonchalantly while Clint bangs a U-turn that sends them towards the interstate.

***

Steve wakes up to the sound of Wagner’s Bridal Chorus. His first thought is that he’s going to kill Tony.

His second thought is that it’s September 7th. Today is his wedding day.

After turning to shut the alarm of, he rolls over and expects to come in contact with Bucky’s warm, solid weight beside him. Instead, he finds a fluorescent sticky note not unlike the ones Pepper always seems to keep handy.

As it so happens, it’s Pepper’s precise script which he finds on the paper, reading:

_Sorry Steve!  
You know the rule: its bad luck to see the ~~bride~~ GROOM before the wedding. He’s in good hands! Sam’s coming at ten:  BE. READY._

_XO – Pep._

Steve chuckles at the thought of Pepper sneaking in the room at the crack of dawn and dragging an undoubtedly uncooperative and immensely grumpy Bucky out of bed. He can only imagine that his husband-to-be was bribed with greasy breakfast foods and the promise of coffee. Steve crumples the note and rolls over to look at the clock resting on the nightstand. 8:49. He’s got time.

Sam shows up with a bottle of whiskey and two tumblers just as Steve’s securing the knot of his tie at the base of his throat. Steve tries to decline, but Sam fills the glasses half way and forces it into Steve’s hand.

“A toast,” Sam says, raising his glass and giving Steve a meaningful stare until Steve finally wavers and raises his glass as well.

“To my best man.” Steve says earnestly, clinking his glass with Sam’s and downing the shot in one go.

Sam snorts and shakes his head. “To the sappiest guy I know, who doesn’t seem to understand that getting married at 25 is a whole lot like leaving a party at 9:30,” he says before tilting his glass toward Steve and knocking his drink back as well.

Steve rolls his eyes and sets the glass down on his dresser. “Doesn’t matter when I leave, so long as I’m leavin’ with him.”

Sam grabs at his heart like he’s been wounded. “You write that one down, or did you come up with that off the top of your head?” He teases.

Steve waves him off and wanders into the bathroom, touching up his meticulously parted hair in the mirror. When he’s satisfied, he heaves a sigh and turns out the light. He meets Sam back in the main room, where his friend has already poured him another shot.

“You’re gonna need it. He’s a knockout.” Sam says knowingly.

Steve eyes him skeptically, “You seen him?” He asks.

Sam shrugs, but there’s a maddening glint in his eye. “Oh, just for a second. It was dark. Mighta been a trick of the light.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but downs the shot when it’s offered to him. After hissing at the burning sensation crawling down his throat, he sets the tumbler down and nods toward the door. “You ready to get out of here?”

Sam looks at his watch, “Tony’s got his boy Happy coming around with the car at 10:30, we’ve got a couple minutes. You got everything you need?” Steve nods affirmatively, at which Sam squints. “Got your vows?”

Steve pats his breast pocket, feeling the folded paper resting inside. “Yep.”

“Tickets for the honeymoon?”

Steve nods toward the suitcases sitting piled by the door, inside of which he _knows_ the tickets to Arizona are packed. He triple checked. He didn’t want to screw up the surprise of bringing Bucky to the Grand Canyon, which he’d been planning ever since he caught Bucky pouring over a book about the canyon in their junior year.

“ _Look at it, Stevie! Ain’t it…I dunno…It just looks so—so…”_

_“Grand?”_

_“Shut your yap. You finished those drawings yet, smart ass?_ ”

“The rings?”

Steve is snapped back to the present by Sam’s voice. 

“Huh?” He blurts.

“You got the rings?”

Steve blanches, “You’re supposed to have the rings!” He cries.

Sam just chuckles and reaches into his pocket, producing two rings: one silver and the other gold. “Relax, relax. I just wanted to see your face man.”

Steve squares his jaw and glares at Sam. “Not funny.”

Sam continues to laugh until his phone begins ringing. Steve recognizes the tune. Trouble Man, of course. 

“Happy’s here.” Sam says after hanging up. “Let’s get you hitched!”

***

Steve shifts his weight nervously from foot to foot, and he can’t seem to decide whether he wants to put his hands in his pockets or clasp them behind his back. His eyes dart nervously from the priest, who stands in front of him flipping through the pages of his script, to Sam, who’s standing by his side looking as cool and collected as ever. It’s maddening. Steve can feel the sweat trickling from his hairline down his neck.

He doesn’t even chance a glance over his shoulder. It’s not like they invited all of Brooklyn: just the friends he and Bucky have made throughout their lives and a few family members that took the time out of their busy lives to attend, and yet Steve can’t stomach the thought of turning to see them all staring at him. Instead, he decides that staring at the deep maroon carpet beneath his feet will be just fine.

That is until the jazzy instrumental of the song Steve and Bucky had picked out starts up. At that point Steve can’t help but whip around and watch as the doors at the back of the church swing open and Tony and Pepper come walking out arm in arm.

Steve’s breath gets caught in his throat, and behind him Sam laughs and urges him to, “Breathe, man!”

When Tony and Pepper reach the end of the isle, Tony kisses the top of her hand and they go their separate ways, Tony behind Steve, and Pepper to the empty side of the altar. As Tony passes, he winks at Steve and smiles. “Look sharp, Cap,” he says.

Across from him, Pepper mouths, “ _You look great!_ ” He acknowledges her with a nod before turning to watch Clint and Natasha take their turn down the aisle. 

Clint’s got a coffee stain on his dress shirt, and Natasha looks thoroughly exhausted, and Steve can barely repress his smile. “Don’t even ask.” Natasha growls as she passes him, falling in behind Tony while Clint takes his place behind Pepper. Despite the hostility in her words, when Clint winks at her from across the way, he can see the flush that burns Natasha’s cheeks; try as she might to suppress it.

Thor and Bruce walk the aisle together. They wave to their dates, who sit side by side in the pews. Thor has brought along Jane Foster—an (apparently) famous astrophysicist whom, upon meeting her, had Tony’s jaw nearly unhinged. When asked where he’d met her, Thor had laughed and said, “Lady Jane struck me with her car.” Steve assumed it was a metaphor for something, he just didn’t quite know what. Bruce’s plus-one is his friend Betty, whom he met in their shared doctorate program. Tony had told Steve (in the greatest confidence, supposedly) that Bruce is hoping to make it official with her sometime soon. By the way she’s looking at him now; Steve can tell that she’s hoping for the same.

When Thor and Bruce fall into place, the gravity of what’s coming hits Steve square in the chest. He hopes that all those early morning runs he and Sam went on in college whipped his best man into shape, because he thinks he may just pass out into the man behind him. His heart rattles in his chest as Kitty Kallen crones over the speakers.

“ _Never thought that you would be standing here so close to me…_ ”

Just when he thinks he can catch a breath, Bucky appears in the doorway, and suddenly he’s just an asthmatic kid hopelessly in love with his best friend who’s got a heroic streak, killer aim, and a smile like blinding sunshine.

“Jesus Christ.” He whispers reverently, forgetting where he is for a moment until the priest pointedly clears his throat behind him. Steve pays him no mind. He’s only got eyes for Bucky.

“ _There's so much I feel I should say, but words can wait until some other day…_ ”

Steve swallows hard and drinks in the sight in front of him: Bucky’s looking right back at him, grinning like a fool and looking light as air. Becca’s got a firm grip on his arm, which is probably for the best, because it looks like if she gave him any leeway, he might up and float away. 

“Told you.” Sam whispers. The corner of Steve’s mouth twitches upward, because _goddamn_ , did Sam ever tell him.

Bucky’s a knockout: a TKO in the prize fight, lights out, one-punch knockout.

“ _Kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again. It’s been a long, long time..._ ”

Bucky’s hair is combed back just the way he likes it: Not flat down on his head like his Ma used to do, but just messy enough that Steve can picture how soft it would be to run his hands through it. 

His suit is pristine, clinging to the curves and lines of his body in a way that Steve can really appreciate. He wonders if he can get Bucky to keep the suit on long enough for him to draw him in it. It occurs to him that the alternative of watching Bucky strip _out_ of the suit it far more appealing, so he saves that internal war for later on.

“ _Haven't felt like this, my dear, since I can't remember when. It’s been a long, long time…_ ”

With every step Bucky takes, the erratic beating in Steve’s chest settles. Steve once thought that Bucky was gonna be the death of him one day, that Bucky will finally get his heart racing so fast it just up and quits on him, but it’s becoming more and more clear with every second that Bucky’s the only one who can slow his heart down just as quickly as he can send it racing.

When Bucky passes Ms. Rogers, he reaches a hand out to her, which she squeezes tightly in her white-gloved hand. In the other hand she clutches a tissue, and Steve knows for a fact she’s got about a thousand more stuffed in her purse. 

There had been a discussion, months ago, about who would walk Bucky down the aisle. The discussion was short. Bucky had asked Rebecca, and Rebecca had tried her damnest not to cry at the offer. Steve had watched her eyes well up with tears that she fought tooth and nail, but when she leapt into her brother’s arms for a hug, it was impossible to disguise her shaking shoulders and muffled sniffles.

“ _You'll never know how many dreams I dream about you. Or just how empty they all seem without you._ ”

Rebecca and Bucky reach the end of the aisle and Rebecca offers Bucky a watery smile before gripping him in an iron tight hug. Over his shoulder, she fixes Steve with the most terrifying glare that he’s ever been on the receiving end of. ‘ _If your hurt him: you’re dead,_ ’ she mouths, and all Steve can do is nod helplessly.

The dark look disappears just as quickly as it came, and in its wake is a bright, tearful smile. “Don’t fuck it up, Buck.” She whispers to her brother, kissing him on the cheek before wiping her eyes and turning to join Steve’s mother in the first row.

Bucky takes a deep breath and turns back to Steve, and neither can help the nervous laugh that bubbles up from their throats, as if to say, “ _Here we are, after all these years…_ ”

“ _So kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again. It's been a long, long time._ ”

The song fades, and silence descends. Someone in the seats coughs, and Clint sniffles, but for all Steve knows the church could be burning to the ground around them. He couldn’t pry his eyes off Bucky if it meant world peace.

The silence is broken with the Father begins, in a deep, warbling voice, to read from the leather bound book in his hands.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to unite James Buchanan Barnes and—.”

And loud bang from the back of the church interrupts the speech, and every head turns to the double doors, beyond which is another set of doors which sound as though they’ve just been pushed open with force. Steve and Bucky share a curious glance before waiting for any more noise to follow. Sure enough, voices carry through the heavy wooden doors.

“Shit, shit, they already started!”

“’Course they already started, we’re fifteen minutes late, you idiot!”

“Ain’t my fault, why’d you give the kid from Fresno a map’a Brooklyn! Shit looks like gibberish to me.”

“Pour l'amour de Dieu! We are getting nothing accomplished standing ‘eer! Go on!”

“Why don’t you go ahead if you’ve got all the bright ideas?”

With every word spoken in every voice, understanding slowly dawns on Steve. The voices have changed…deepened with time, but there’s no mistaking…

“No fuckin’ way…” Bucky whispers in awe, staring wide-eyed at the wooden doors. “How’d they find out? How’d they get here?” He asks Steve.

Steve shrugs, but the sound of his mother pointedly clearing her throat draws Steve and Bucky’s attention. She smiles softly and shrugs. “I made a few calls.” She says vaguely.

“On the count of three, boys! One, two…”

On their mark, the doors swing open and the Howling Commandos stumble over the threshold of the humble church, dressed in their finest. Although times have changed them, Steve has no problem recognizing the lot of them—just as rag-tag as ever. Hell, Dum-Dum still dons the bowler hat, though it looks like he’d finally got one of his own.

Morita gives a tip of his charcoal grey scally cap, clears his throat and smiles. “Hey, uh…Sorry we’re late?”

“Better late than never.” Steve says with a wry smile.

Morita, Falsworth, Dum-Dum, Gabe, and Jacques file into a bench in the back, apologizing profusely for interrupting the ceremony before finally settling in.

“Might I continue?” The priest asks. His disapproval is evident in his voice. Bucky and Steve both nod, and so he begins again. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to unite James Buchanan Barnes and,” he gives a pause, glancing to the back of the church as though he expects more intruders. When none come, he continues, “Steven Grant Rogers in marriage.

“It is fitting and appropriate that you, the family and friends of James and Steven, be here to witness and to participate in their union. For the ideals, the understanding, and the mutual respect which they bring to their life together had their roots in the love and friendship and guidance you have given them. The union of two people makes us aware of the changes wrought by time. But the new relationship will continue to draw much of its beauty and meaning from the intimate associations of their past."

“Shit, I’m gonna cry.” Clint whispers, though his sentiment carries in the small church. Laughter blooms about the crowd as Ms. Rogers leans over the pew and hands Clint a tissue, which he blows into loudly. Steve and Bucky share tight lipped grins, secretly laughing at the blatant distress of the official standing above them.

“Love,” the priest continues, his tone slightly sharper than before, “is ever changing. To attempt to control it is one of the many follies of mankind—for love takes many forms, it hides in many places, and is forever evolving from one form to the next. What is one day a friendship, a brotherhood; the next is unyielding devotion and a promise of permanence, and the next it is a love which promises to burn eternal, through the ups and downs, the rise and falls, for the inconsistency of life cannot penetrate this kind of love. And it is all these forms of love that we celebrate today.”

“Damn it, give me some of those.” This time it’s Tony, crossing the aisle to take a wad of tissues from Steve’s mother, which he disperses to Thor and Natasha in kind.

Steve bites his lip to keep from outright laughing at the exasperated look on the priests face. Bucky’s not faring much better, Steve can tell by the blush spreading steadily across his cheeks. His eyes are alight with silent laughter, and Steve can hardly wait to reminisce about this later, when they’re as far from Father Riggins as possible.

“Perhaps, we shall move on to the exchange of vows?” The priest offers stiffly. Steve and Bucky both reach for their pockets, pulling out small, folded papers.

“You first?” Steve asks.

“You lead the way, pal.” Bucky says, nodding encouragingly.

Steve feels another drop of sweat drop down his neck as he opens the paper with shaking hands. He worries that if he sweats too hard, he might blur the ink on the page, but he finds that once he begins reading, the words flow freely, effortlessly.

“I vow to never, so long as I live, make peas for dinner.” Steve begins with a chuckle. The crowd groans, but Bucky smiles like that’s the only vow he needs to hear. “I vow to let you name our dogs, so long as I get a say in which dog we get.” Bucky nods agreeably, and Steve’s already planning for the third body in their bed: this one much hairier, and probably with worse morning breath. “I vow to not laugh when you pronounce the ‘p’ in ‘pterodactyl’.” He continues, ignoring Bucky’s indignant eye roll. “I vow to protect you, cardboard shield or not.” Dum-Dum blows his nose obnoxiously, quietly cursing himself for crying. “And I vow that, should you ever forget how much I love you ever again, I’ll be there to remind you of it every day: from now ‘til the end of the line.”

“Knew I shouldn’t have let him gone first.” Bucky says to the small crowd while he unfolds his own list. “How am I supposed to follow that up?”  
He smoothes out the crumpled page before reciting his first vow. “I vow to always share my peanut butter and jellies whenever you get stuck with tuna.” He starts, and Steve can feel his heart melting. He hopes his vows sounded just as good; made Bucky feel the same way. “I vow to hold my tongue when it comes to your taste in music.” Steve laughs, and he’s genuinely interested to know just how long that vow’s going to last. “I vow to always pose for your figure drawings. ‘Specially the naked ones.” Bucky says with a mischievous smirk and a wink.

“Nobody wants to hear that, Barnes!” Morita cries.

Bucky shrugs and returns to his list. “I vow to always have your back in a fight. Can’t promise I’ll be happy ‘bout it, but I’ll do it.” The smile on Bucky’s face drops a little as he reaches the end of his list. His face, as well as his voice, becomes more serious. “And I vow that I’ll always come back to you. Hell or high water. ‘Cause I’m with you, ‘til the end of the line.” He finished with a smile.

Steve has never wanted to kiss him so badly in all his life. Bucky’s words soothe him like warm waves crashing over him, lulling his nerves to sleep and setting off a fuzzy feeling beneath his skin. All he can think, over and over, is ‘ _I’m so in love with you, I’m so in love with you…_ ’ and hope that Bucky can ready his mind, which Steve so often believes he can.

“Do we have the rings?” Father Riggins asks.

“You bet we do.” Sam says, fishing them out of his pockets and handing them over to Steve, who in turn passes one to Bucky, keeping the other to himself.

“James Buchanan Barnes, I ask you to take Steven’s hand and repeat after me.” The Father orders. Bucky takes Steve’s hand in his own, the left one, the one that serves as a constant reminder of all they’ve overcome, and for the first time Steve realizes that Bucky’s shaking, too. “Repeat after me: This ring is a token of my love.”

“This ring is a token of my love.” Bucky says, confident smirk betraying his shaking hands.

“I marry you with this ring, with all that I have and all that I am.”

“I marry you with this ring, with all that I have and all that I am.” Bucky repeats, sliding the silver ring down Steve’s finger. Steve knows that it’s all in his head, but the ring seems to weigh five pounds now that it’s sitting there. A wide smile breaks across his face at the sight of it.

“And now you, Steven, repeat after me: This ring is a token of my love.”

Steve takes Bucky’s left hand and tries his hardest to keep it steady. “This ring is a token of my love.”

“I marry you with this ring, with all that I have and all that I am.”

Steve breathes in deep and nestles the ring along Bucky’s finger, the gleaming gold standing out in stark contrast against the silver. “I marry you with this ring, with all that I have and all that I am.” He says firmly, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes at the sight of a ring on Bucky’s finger. He chances a glance up and Bucky and catches him in the same state. They exchange excited, watery smiles when they think of what’s to come. 

“And now, by the power vested in me by the State of New York, I hereby pronounce you wed. You may kiss your husband." Father Riggins concludes. He’s barely got the words out before Bucky closes the distance, eagerly wrapping his arms around Steve and clinging to him as he brings his lips down against Steve’s.

Steve can’t help but lift Bucky up off his feet and hold him secure, laughing into the kiss and feeling nothing but complete bless. Complete and total bliss.

He feels a hand clap him on the shoulder, and he reluctantly turns away from Bucky’s lips to look at Sam, whose hand still rests on Steve.

“Ladies and Gentleman: For the first time, I introduce you to Mr. and Mr. Rogers-Barnes!”

The applause betrays the actual number of guests who leap to their feet: it’s a complete uproar. The Commandos are howling their joy, Steve’s mother is openly weeping alongside Rebecca, and their friends swarm them at the altar, cheering at the top of their lungs.

***

“DANCE OFF BRO! YOU AND ME!”

“Who is he again?” Steve asks, eyeing the red head trying to instigate Sam into a dance battle. The reception began all of a half an hour ago, but this guy’s already killed two bottles of wine, and wields a third in his hand as he gesticulates wildly at Sam.

“Peter Quill, you know him! He threw all those parties we went to on Thursdays. He’s friends with Rocket—the short kid who always wore the coonskin cap ‘round campus?” Bucky explained.

“Right, right! Hung around with Groot, right? I had some classes with him.” Steve remembers. He can recall Peter loitering around the art room, usually with his headphones turned up so loud that Steve could hear the music he listened to whether he wanted to or not.

“I’ll catch you after,” Sam says to his challenger, “but first I think we oughtta let the happy couple have a dance before I wipe the floor with your sorry ass!”

The crowd cheers and Bucky turns to Steve with a wicked smile, offering him his hand. “Whaddaya say, Stevie, can I have this dance?”

Steve pretends to think on it before taking Bucky’s hand, “I outta let you know now, I’m a married man.” He teases.

Bucky leads the way on to the floor, laughing all the way, “Your husband’s a lucky fella.”

The same song Bucky had walked down the aisle to starts up again and Steve brings one arm to Bucky’s shoulder and maintains his hold on his hand. He begins to sway, counting on Bucky to lead him through this. “He ain’t the lucky one.” Steve says.

“Well, you two’ve got the rest of your lives to fight about that now, don’t you?” Bucky asks, twirling Steve as the big band roars to life over the speakers.

Steve molds himself back to Bucky’s body and smiles fondly. “Yeah, I suppose we do.” He leans in and kisses his husband, _his husband_ , soundly before allowing himself to be worked around the dance floor.

Following the first dance, Tony picks up the responsibility of DJing, though Pepper keeps him in line, sending him warning glares every time he so much as glances at an ACDC record. Peter gets his dance off and Sam has no choice but to admit defeat when Peter drops into a split during ‘ _Superfreak_ ’.

Throughout the night, Steve sees his mother hustling about the room with trays full of food, serving people left and right. She’s practically glowing, thriving off the energy of a full house. Steve thinks she might actually burst with joy at the sound of a glass breaking, and Thor’s booming voice shouting, “ANOTHER, DEAR LADY SARAH!” over the music.

And in the chaos, Steve finds Bucky, still held impossibly close by his side. He leans in and recaptures Bucky’s lips, tightening his grip on the personification of safety and belonging, because if there’s one thing that Steve’s learned from all of this, it’s that misfits like themselves don’t find salvation in places, but in people.


End file.
